Lullaby
by Immokk
Summary: COMPLETE PENDING POSSIBLE EPILOGUE:With news that they had made an arrest they came into her home.What would this mean for her?What would this mean for the man they had locked away?A final insult.
1. Capture

**A/N: I don't own Phantom, Christine, Raoul or any other character or lyric from the original story or play. I only own my plot and descriptions.**

**With that said please read, please review, please be kind!**

**Summary: **With the news that they had made an arrest they came bounding into her home. But what would this mean for her? And what would this mean for the man whom they had locked away. A final insult.****

**Rating: **High… T (Possibly M later)

**Lullaby **

**Chapter 1- Capture**

She stared blankly at the officer as if he were some mud her fiancé had just trudged through her newly cleaned living room, rather than the policeman he had just invited in. She watched him as he spoke, his moustache bouncing on his top lip, and she noticed spit forming in the corner of his mouth. She averted her eyes in disgust to Raoul who was looking slightly solemn for her but she knew that underneath he was feeling smug and self satisfied. And he should, she thought and held back a sorrowed sigh.

He should feel smug and self satisfied.

She looked back over at the officer who was rocking backwards and forwards with an unbridled glee, as if he were telling her of a childhood memory. As if he wasn't making her feel sick to her stomach, making her heart ache. He bobbed up and down, nodding and laughing as she looked on and she realised that he had asked her a question.

'I'm sorry,' she said and forced herself to look at his face. 'What did you say?'

He smiled and gave Raoul a knowing look, nudge, nudge wink. The little lady, she thought with a very deep suppressed groan. She had heard him mutter something to Raoul about how filthy he had been when they caught him and how grotesque his face was. She didn't want to listen anymore and so she had cut her mind off from them.

'We were wondering, as you were the only one to see him properly.' He began and she nodded as if she were interested. 'If you would come along and identify him.'

She stared.

'Dear, he was only suggesting… If you don't want to...' Raoul said, stepping over to her and placing his hands on her shoulders. Christine looked into his deep almond eyes and nodded.

'Good, good.' Said the officer with a grin. 'Tomorrow?' he asked.

'Yes,' Christine said, smiling. So false. 'In the morning.'

Raoul kissed her forehead softly and the skin tingled under his touch. She watched as he straightened himself up and walked over to the officer, patting his back and leading him to the door. No doubt smiling with that smug look on his face, the one she knew he had been hiding from her.

Yes, he should look like that. He should be happy, he should be smug.

They had caught the Phantom of the Opera.


	2. Confidante

**Chapter 2- Confidante**

Christine wasted no time dashing out of the house after Raoul had left on business that evening. To think that they had caught Erik, that they had him locked away in a tiny cell, was enough to drive her stir crazy trapped inside alone.

She literally ran along the cobbled streets of Paris, ignoring the shouts of irritated walkers as she bumped into them. Right now she just simply did not care, she couldn't. She couldn't think of anything but Erik, he was filling her mind, she had images of him shackled in a cell, cold and wet and being beaten by guards. She stopped and leaned her hand against the nearest wall, dropping her head and gagging at the picture of him in her head. She coughed and swallowed a mouthful of vomit back down, which did nothing but make her feel worse.

A gentleman and his wife had stopped to ask her if she was okay, she had assured them that she was fine and feeling a little under the weather. The kind strangers had offered to walk her home, almost insisted, but she declined almost too politely and walked in the opposite direction.

Her feet carried her automatically, she didn't think about it, they just took her where she needed to go. The cold of the evening was settling hard on her chest and her breathing was becoming laboured. Still, she did not return home. As she rounded the next corner she found several familiar faces smiling at her and she forced herself to smile in return. It was difficult, they were friends of Raoul's and no doubt the sight of her flustered face would be enough to have the gossiping for centuries.

It was another five minutes before she arrived at her destination. The door was tall and oak and the perfection of it's colour always made her smile. So deep and powerful, it reminded her so much of it's owner. Her hand lifted and knocked the door three times before she stood back, wrapping her arms around herself and waiting for an answer.

'Christine?' Madame Giry said, as she opened the door and ushered her inside. 'What on earth are you doing here?'

'I need to speak with Meg,' she said softly and avoided making eye contact with the ballet mistress. Madame Giry nodded and gave a quick call to her daughter, who appeared almost immediately from the sitting room.

'Christine!' she said and ran to hug her friend, who held her tight in return. 'How wonderful to see you!'

'Yes, Meg,' Christine said and the smile which followed seemed natural. 'So good to see you too.'

'Oh you must tell me how you've been!' Meg gasped as she stared at the ring on Christine's finger. 'It's been a month and I've seen nothing of you! Tell me everything.'

And with that Christine swallowed the lump in her throat and followed Meg to her room.

She had a lot to tell her.


	3. Honesty

**A/N: Philippe is alive… because I want him to be. **

**Amber- You keep promising me a second instalment! Thank you for the review! I finish Uni for good in a week! Have you noticed how I always write fiction when I have assignments to finish..?**

**AngelOfMusic387: Thank you for your review… hopefully you will understand how in the coming chapters!**

**Colbie: The same idea? Perhaps we will be going in different directions, I'd like to read some of your work.**

**Chapter 3- Honesty.**

Meg cooed and smiled, giggled and hugged Christine for nearly twenty minutes before Christine could get more than a sentence out. She realised that she had left it far too long without seeing her friend, after _that _night at the opera Raoul had whisked her away to a small town outside of Paris for some rest. They had gone without the consent of Philippe but over the course of the month he had begun to warm to her. Oddly it was her innocence that had won her favour with him, he had been sceptical and annoyed at her presence but slowly he had come around, treated her like a person. However, she was not foolish enough to believe that this mean that he liked her, or that he fully approved.

'Christine?' Meg said softly and it was then that Christine realised that Meg's hand was resting delicately on her shoulder. She glanced up at her friend whose pretty features were contorted with confusion. 'You don't look at all happy this evening.'

Christine swallowed and forced herself to smile as Meg sat next to her, slipping her arm over Christine's shoulders.

'I am happy…' she began with a long sigh. 'It's just that… well…'

'It's okay…' Meg whispered, urging Christine with a squeeze to continue.

'They caught him tonight.' She said, so quietly that Meg had to strain to hear her.

'The ghost?' she asked, staring into Christine's deep eyes. Christine could not speak, she could barely nod and as she closed her eyes she fought the vomit back from her throat. 'Where?'

'I don't know…' Christine managed to say, eyes still firmly shut.

'Isn't this good news?' Meg asked watching Christine rock backwards and forwards slowly.

'No…' Christine said and opened her eyes to look at Meg, whose concern was obvious.

'I don't understand.' She said simply, confused.

'Oh Meg…' said Christine, as a tear rolled freely down her face, hot and salty it touched her lips and clung there. 'They'll hang him.'

'He's a murderer…'

'It's not like that,' Christine said, lifting her hand to wipe away another tear. Her face was becoming streaked and red and her heart seemed to be beating slower than ever. It seemed to be stopping. 'He loved me.'

'He lied to you, Christine.' Meg said, for once the voice of reason and logic. It made no difference.

'Yes but only because he didn't want to lose me.' Christine answered, too quickly.

'No,' Meg said, firmly. 'Because he's a killer.'

'No he isn't.'

'Then he didn't kill Joseph?' she asked, eyebrows raised, staring, waiting for Christine to answer.

'I don't know.' She answered, half honestly.

'Of course he did. Who else would do such a thing?' Meg asked and Christine smiled at her naivety.

'Anyone can kill, Meg.' She said and Meg looked at her before standing and walking to her dresser, no doubt trying to take in what Christine was saying, or at least, what she was trying to say. 'He may have done it… he may have killed them both. But he might not have.'

'Christine, have you gone mad?' Meg asked, it wasn't a joke, it was a genuine question.

'I'm not mad. I just…' She began and the sight of Meg's horror stopped her for a moment. 'Don't look like that, it makes you ugly.' Meg shrugged. 'I don't want him to die, Meg.'

'Why on earth not?' she asked.

'Because he was good, really, inside… he let Raoul go… he could have killed him… both of us… but he didn't,' she said, and then with astounding logic, the tone of her voice calming. 'So it is quite possible, as he spared his rivals life, that he did not kill Joseph or Piangi either.'

'It is possible,' Meg replied quickly adding. 'But unlikely.' She smiled. 'And besides, Christine, he will get his trial, he will have his chance to prove himself'

'Do you believe that, Meg?' Christine asked. 'If you do… you are more naïve than I ever gave you credit for.'

'Oh Christine, there is no need for that!' Cried Meg, stung by Christine's comment.

'He is already guilty, you have condemned him yourself, they all have.' Her chest ached. 'He has no chance.'

Meg stopped for a moment, lifting her hand up to the ribbon in her hair and pulling it out, allowing her long blonde hair to fall over her shoulders. She ran her fingers slowly through her hair, a habit she had when she was thinking, she straightened it and tucked one side back behind her ear. Her eyes met with Christine's deep brown iris' and she let out a sigh before stepping over and kneeling in front of her friend.

Christine's hands were resting in her lap, hot and sticky on her dress and Meg reached out to hold them, still focused on Christine's eyes.

'Listen,' she said softly and Christine nodded. 'You are to marry Raoul next week.' Christine swallowed hard but listened. 'He has worked hard for this, he has rushed and begged to get this date, so early.' She waited for Christine to respond and when she didn't Meg continued. 'You're confused is all, Chrissy, you have cold feet.'

'No…' she answered but Meg carried on regardless.

'Yes, that's it, you are worried.' She said. 'It has happened rather fast…'

'It isn't Meg.' Christine said, firmly, causing Meg to finally stop in her tracks. 'I will marry Raoul, I love Raoul, but it does _not _mean that I will see Er… the phantom, persecuted.'

Meg stared.

'Don't you understand?' She asked and Meg shook her head from side to side. No, she truly did not. 'Oh Meg, how can they kill him? How can I let him die?'

'I don't see how you can change things.' Meg said, quietly. Christine tore her hands away from Meg's and buried her face in them. She felt the tears slip through her fingers and slide down her wrists. She felt Meg's eyes on her, watching her. She felt Meg's discomfort. She felt like her world was ending.

'I can't…' she began but stopped.

'Perhaps you could tell them that it is not him.' Meg suggested with a shrug and Christine looked up from her hands.

'They would never believe me.' She said.

'I don't really understand,' Said Meg, with a frown.

'Would you see someone you love hang, Meg?' Was Christine's honest and only reply.


	4. Development

**A/N: Warning, rather an RC chapter… I'm not saying how it will turn out in the end though, maybe both?**

**Amber: Hello again, such a faithful reviewer and very much appreciated! But… I do believe there is no movement on the 'Second instalment' situation…**

**AngelofMusic: Thank you for the review! Fear not… I have a cunning plan, so cunning you could put a tail on it and call it a weasel. (Note, Blackadder)**

**This chapter is… relatively dull. I call these chapters fillers, just so that things don't get confusing like… 'wouldn't she have told her fiancé where she had gone' etc etc?**

**This is why I have put two up!**

**Review either or both… lol up to you.**

**Chapter 4- Development. **

Meg had said nothing for the last hour, allowing Christine to stare vacantly out of the window and attempt to collect her thoughts. A dark curl dangled loosely in front of her eyes and she blew it forward gently, as it dropped back to her face she blew again. The street was quiet in front of the house, the lamps flickering a soft orange glow onto the cobbles but otherwise the night seemed perfectly still. Not a leaf rustled, not a branch swayed, not even the stars twinkled. Christine mused that the night was dead and clenched her teeth at the thought.

It was the sharp knock at the side door which brought her from her trance and she turned to face Meg, who was checking the time on the mantel clock. Meg shrugged and wandered into the hallway, closely followed by Christine. As they reached the top of the stairs a deep voice caused Christine to smile.

'Christine,' called Madame Giry. 'Your escort, I believe.'

Christine skipped down the stairs and into Raoul's arms, who held her tightly, kissed her hair softly and squeezed her to his strong chest. She gazed up into his soft eyes and a smile spread over his lips making her long to kiss them.

'I was worried.' He said, his tone wrapped in concern. 'When I returned I checked your quarters and you weren't there.'

'I'm sorry,' she said with sincerity and he smiled, turning to face Meg.

'Hello Meg,' he said and she smiled at him. 'Have you been looking after my girl?'

'I have,' she said, blushing.

'Good, good,' His eyes shone as he glanced back at his fiancée. 'Are you ready?' He asked and she looked from him to Meg.

'Actually,' she began. 'Could I stay here tonight?' she asked. 'I haven't seen Meg in so long, we have so much to catch up on. I want to speak to her about her part in the wedding.'

Raoul looked for a moment, his arm still tucked behind Christine's slender frame. He pulled her to his body, kissed her cheek and smiled to Madame Giry. It seemed that no one had noticed the utterly confused expression covering Meg's face.

'Of course you can,' he said softly. 'I will have Annette come by in the morning with fresh clothes and the police officer.'

Christine nodded, somehow managing to hide the look of sorrow from Raoul. He simply smiled at her and kissed her once more before politely thanking Madame Giry for her time and bidding them all farewell leaving Christine to explain her plans to a very confused Meg.

* * *

'Under strict instructions not to go in there,' said the tall prison guard to the one taking over from him. He looked into the cell at the man huddled in the shadows of the corner.

'Why not?' he asked making sure the door was firmly bolted. Clink. The man didn't move.

'He keeps whispering gibberish.' Said Tall. 'Apparently, he snapped a man's neck with his bare hands.'

'Really?' said the other, 'I heard he could make a lasso out of thin air.'

The stories of the infamous Phantom had spread like wild fire and it was true, no one had touched him since he arrived. Not even to hose him down. So there he was sitting in his own dirt with the thankless task of listening to the imbeciles recount their myths about the Opera Ghost. He smiled wryly and stretched himself out on the floor, closing his eyes to get some sleep. If only they knew.


	5. Friends

**A/N: Two! Possibly another if I have time…**

**Chapter 5- Friends. **

The solid oak dresser took up almost the entire corner of the room and the mirror over it was framed beautifully, with angels clinging to its edges, engraved into the glass like frosting. Its clarity was perfect, and it sat wonderfully on the surface of the dresser, reflecting the candlelight in such a way that the whole room was alight. Christine had often wondered where Madame Giry had bought the mirror from and where she might be able to get one which was exactly the same.

She had sat in a position where she could not see her face but could see Meg who was seated, still staring at her, from the other side of the room. It was this room that made Christine envy Meg. The love that had gone into its decoration was unbridled, the paints were soft and made the room catch even the slightest glimpse of daylight. The oak dresser, the mirror and the bed were large and well sculpted, craftsmanship she had only recently become to understand. The sheets covering the bed were the most delicate cotton, so pure and warm, so loving and protective.

Meg had the love of her mother, it was a love Christine had never really known. Her mother had died giving birth to her. Erik once told her that perhaps this was the biggest declaration of love her mother could have shown. She had died so that Christine could be born. It was one of the only things in her life that had made her smile and cry all at the same time. God bless Erik. Erik…

'Meg,' she said suddenly, tucking her knees up to her chin and wrapping her arms around them. Meg looked at her. 'I need to go out.'

Meg stared for a moment, watching the flickers of the candles flames reflecting in the darkness of Christine's eyes. She took a deep breath and blew it out in a sigh, it was the only thing she could do to compose herself.

'Don't…' she began but Christine lifted her hand to stop her.

'I have to.' She said simply. Meg knew what she was talking about although Christine had not actually told her. That was the wonderful thing about a friend like Meg, a friend any friend should be happy of. She always knew what Christine was thinking, even before she was thinking it.

'Christine…' she said but allowed the words to trail off to nothing, knowing that no matter what she uttered Christine would not listen. Christine stood and jumped onto the bed next to Meg, throwing her arms around her neck and holding her tight.

'You are the best friend anyone could have.' She said into Meg's hair as Meg rubbed her back gently. 'I love you dearly.'

'Keep thinking that.' She said softly. 'No matter how stupid you get, I love you too.'

Christine nodded.

'Tell me about Henry,' she said, lying back with her friend still wrapped up in her arms. 'You haven't mentioned him in so long.'

Meg's cheeks flushed rapidly and she hit her face in the pillow, making Christine giggle.

'He is well.' She said simply and Christine nudged her in the ribs. 'He is simply too handsome!' Meg cried and her cheeks burned brighter.

'Too handsome?' Christine said, digging her in the ribs for a second time. 'How is that possible?'

Meg rolled onto her back and kicked her legs in the air with a laugh, hugging herself in an obvious attempt o stop her emotions from bubbling all over the bed sheets. She could barely contain herself.

'He is wonderful, Chrissy!' she said. 'Absolutely wonderful.'

'Good,' Christine said, 'You deserve to be happy.'

'As do you,' Meg said, suddenly looking serious. Christine allowed a sorrowful smile to her lips, the kind of smile only sad people can manage. Meg reached over and patted Christine's hands, which were placed delicately on her stomach.

'When are you going?' Meg asked, without looking over, instead choosing the safer option of staring at the ceiling.

'In a moment,' she said and glanced at Meg, who didn't move.

'When will you be back?' Meg asked.

'In a little over an hour.' Christine replied.

'Are you sure you will be alright?'

'Yes,'

'I'm not…' Meg said, turning on her side and looking at Christine.

'I promise,' Christine said kissing Meg's forehead and rolling off the bed.

'Be safe,' she whispered to herself as Christine tiptoed carefully out of the door and down the hallway, leaving Meg to recite a silent prayer for her well being.


	6. Surprises

**A/N: **

**Amber: I've had considerable difficulty getting Chapter 2 of your story to show on my computer but alas, fan fiction has come through for me and I have just finished reading it. I will be going back shortly to leave my review! Thank you for your review. I always believed that Meg and Christine had a connection which wasn't exploited fully enough in the book/ play/ film. **

**Angelofmusic: We all hope Erik isn't too emotionally broken but you would be wouldn't you? I know I would! Perhaps she will be able to talk him around… More Erik to come… soon… I apologise for the first chapters being Erik-less… it is important that we don't see him to early.**

**Elizabeth: Phantom is truly a work of art! And I not only write fiction but am an avid reader… will you be submitting any work? As for long chapters, I struggle with long chapters sometimes… it depends on my mood but I tend to update two or more chapters at a time and I update quickly, I hope it doesn't put you off too much! If you like long chapters then AmberPalettes 'Of Stone' might intrigue you. 'Demons' is fabulous too, by Wandering Child.**

'_Song did not matter when there were no ears to appreciate it, no hearts to stop in its rapture . . . . there was no Christine Daee for that now . . . . and age did not matter when death was a most welcome event._' – From Chapter two 'Of Stone' By AmberPalette

**Chapter 6- Surprises **

It was a smell so stale that she pulled her cape up to her nose to stop it from causing further offence. It was almost in vain, however, as all this did was slightly soften the blow. Christine had given one of the guards a bag of coins in return for him pointing her in the right direction and then simply looking the other way. It was a handsome payment and the guard, introducing himself as Gerald, could barely contain his excitement at the unexpected occurrence. He had taken to talking to her for a while, his accent untamed and his voice full of gravel, he stood there telling her stories of the Phantom.

This man was telling _her_ stories of the Phantom.

She remembered when it had all hit the news, as it were. The papers made no show, gave no sign, of mercy as they verbally pummelled the opera ghost, her opera ghost, in their articles. Mad man they called him, crazy said another. Murderer was the common consensus and they made him a monster in the whole world's eyes. He was not a monster, she thought, as she listened to Gerald jabber on about the lasso of death, he was a man. And then she smiled, he was a man but he was no mere mortal, no ordinary being. He wasn't like Raoul or Andre, or ever Meg's fabulous Henry. He was a dark, mysterious character, full of so much soul and depth that no one could possibly understand him. She certainly had never claimed to.

She had finally asked Gerald to direct her where she wanted to go and to keep watch. She had been very careful to keep her face covered and disguise her voice, a trick Erik has taught her many, many months ago. If it had worked then the guard, if he were still there, would not recognise her the next morning and she could simply go on with her business. Gerald had left her at the corner of cell number one, she had mentally recited the directions to herself so that she knew her way safely in and, more importantly, her way back out.

There was building up on building up on building in the mud filled yard, all of them cast shadows across the floor hiding her presence from any other guards that might be patrolling. He had told her to look for the middle cell, a particularly large cell with a corridor for the guards along its side. He had also informed her that there would be a guard in there, sitting next to the cell and to be sure that she went around the back and to the third and not the second window, so as not to be seen. He had attempted to inquire about her curiosity of the 'ghost' but she had simply glared and he had wisely decided to leave it at that.

She edged cautiously along the edge of the first building, and waited patiently for sounds of men to subside before she moved on to the next cage. And then to the next and finally she found the one she was looking for, as the guard had said, larger than the others and exactly in the middle. Christine was careful as she stepped around the side of this one, knowing that there was a guard on the other side made her heart pound and her palms sweat. She found a crate and pushed it slowly underneath the third window before stepping onto it and looking through the bars.

The room was sparse but in the corner there was a heap of what looked like clothing. On further inspection she realised that it was the prisoner and as her eyes adjusted to the lighting she could see him much better. He was indeed dirty and the smell was terrible, and for a moment she wondered what on earth she was doing. She had no intention of attempting a rescue herself, or being so utterly foolish as to distract the guard so that he could knock him unconscious. In fact, she had come here to see him for herself so that the sight of him in the morning would not kill her. She had come to try to convince him to save himself, by any means. She had simply come to speak to him but on seeing him, in the corner, covered in dirt, she was rapidly changing her mind.

Her eyes focused once again on him, his hands were over his head and he appeared to be sleeping. She turned around to step off the box and suddenly she felt a hand on hers, a hand on the one that was holding the bar. She glanced over her shoulder to see him holding her fingertips to the steel and she stared, unable to speak. His face was gruesome, pitted and marred. Ugly. It was true it was disgusting, true that it was disfigured and truer still that this man was not Erik.


	7. Scars

**Chapter 7- Scars**

She swallowed hard, her hand pinned to the bars of the window, aching against the cold steel. He was pressing hard and she was stuck there, if she jumped from the crate she would surely hurt herself and if she screamed then she would be caught. She tried to tug her arm away and the man grinned, she choked on bile as she saw the gaps in his teeth, the blackness of the remaining ones. She tugged again and he let out a quiet giggle, amused, and for a moment the cruelty made her think that perhaps this was Erik and her memory was distorted.

She snapped herself out of it and glanced down at the dirty hand, black with mud, gripping her fingers. As she stared she noticed that under the mud the hand was disfigured too, as was the wrist. She forced her eyes up to the face and realised that almost the entire face was rough and the neck was just as bad. She looked at his hair, which although clumped in filth, was a light brown, not the jet black of Erik's. His eyes were a gold colour but they certainly were not Erik's, they were neither cold and angry nor blue and beautiful. As she looked at him she began to recognise him.

'He said you would come,' the man whispered with a wry smile. She stared at him, no longer repulsed but intrigued. 'Do you recognise me, Mademoiselle Daee?'

'Persian…' she said nodding.

'It is _still _Mademoiselle Daee, oui?' he asked. 'It would trouble me to offend you.'

Again she nodded.

'Are you surprised?' he asked, his eyes fixed up on hers.

'I…' she said but no other words came out, she was not surprised she was shocked. She glanced down at her hand, which was still under his, and gave it another gentle tug. This time the man let go and wiped it on her cape.

'Did you really think they had caught him, dear?' he asked with a chuckle.

'But… Persian…'

'Nadir,' he said, with a cough. Christine grimaced at the sound of his chest rumbled, it made her feel ill.

'What happened to you?' she asked, still staring at his face, almost wanting to touch it to see if it were some illusion Erik had conjured.

'The fire.' He said simply. 'I went back to rescue some trapped guests. Was caught in it myself.'

'I'm sorry…' she began but he shushed her quickly and shook his head slowly.

'Erik pulled me out,' he said with a smile. 'Saved my life, though he shouldn't have bothered.'

She frowned in confusion and he grinned at her bewilderment as he took his hand from the window and folded his arms across his body. He glanced quickly over his shoulder at the guards station, when he was satisfied he turned back to Christine who was still watching him carefully.

'They're going to hang you…' she said. 'I shall have to tell them that you aren't their Phantom.'

'Don't be foolish,' he said with a giggle. 'Do you think I would be here if I didn't want to be?'

Again her answer was to frown, wrinkling up her pretty features.

'I am dying,' he stated and waited for her response, when none came he continued. 'Some sort of disease…'

'Is it…' she began and he shook his head.

'No,' he said and smiled. 'Not catching.'

'Oh…' she let out a relieved sigh.

'I would rather the quick and relatively painless death of the hangman's noose than the slow and painful death I am suffering now.'

'Where is Erik then?' she asked and he shrugged with another harsh cough. She looked at him. 'But he knows you're here… he told you I would come…'

'Yes,' he answered. 'He knows. He also knows I am dying. This is a blessing for me.'

'In return for saving your life, you are to save his?'

'It was my decision,' He said, turning his back to her and leaning against the wall at the side of the window. 'You should go.'

'Where is he?' she asked but was greeted with an delighted chortle.

'Nowhere.' He said, laughing loudly and crawling back to corner of his cell, into the shadows as a guard stood up and checked on him. She ducked down and stepped off the crate, back to the wall.

She would be back here in the morning, she would look this man in the face for the second time in less then twelve hours. He would look forlorn, he would look broken. The world's newspapers would be lapping it up like a cat at milk. Christine would stare at him, she would look at his grotesque face, his ugly arms and she would turn to the officer, looking solemn and sure. And she would say, 'Yes, this is the Phantom of the Opera'.

She would do it to save Erik.

She would do it to save herself.


	8. Confrontation

**A/N: Wow, so many reviews. Did I say in the first chapter I think this might get steamy? Not yet… no… but I think it will. Fair warning to you all! This is nothing like my first story… well, I don't intend it to be anyway… but I am a creature of habit…**

**Amber: As always thank you so much for the reviews! And your work is too good NOT to quote!**

**Modesty: So good to have you back, have you updated yet? Thanks!**

**Elizabeth 2: Thank you for the kind review. I hope you stick with me.**

**Seylin: lol, thank you for the review… real Erik coming soon, I'm biting my fingers to stop myself from putting him in too soon.**

**AngelofMusic: I think Nadir will go… I think I have no choice but to kill him now but there may be scenes which refer to him later… possibly descriptions of the fire if they still happen to be relevant. I wasn't a fan of the Persian in Leroux's book so I was hoping to give him more depth. I think I have succeeded in that by allying hi with Erik ;)**

**Spike: Continuing right now, thank you so much for the review.**

**A.D. Chandler: Thank you for the review, I will be recommending your story to my friends and fans of 'something a bit different'. As for Nadir helping Erik, I think it is totally in his nature and wanted to give something a little off the wall for an early twist. **

**Mystery Guest: Well, thank you ever so much for your more than kind review. It is reviews like that that encourage writers to continue. As for Christine changing her mind, I think it suits her, I like her as a character but I truly believe she has serious faults. She hadn't thought about what she was doing and as she stood there I think she realised she was out of her depth.**

**There will definitely be E/C in it, strongly I imagine but I don't know if it will turn out that way, you'll have to wait and see ;)**

**Chapter 8- Confrontation. **

Christine felt sick as she reached the rear door of the Giry house. The cold had hit her chest hard and made her breathing awkward, she leaned against the wall for a moment to catch her breath. As she did she closed her eyes and pictured the Persian, Erik's friend… Raoul's ally… She had been shocked at his appearance, almost as much as she had been shocked at Erik's _dis_appearance. She let out a long, languid sigh and as the warmth of her breath hit the cool of the night her vision misted in its condensation.

She fit the key Meg had given her carefully into the lock and turned it gently. With a click the door opened and she stepped in, pushing it with her hand and trying to adjust her eyes to the blackness of the room. She turned and pushed the door shut behind her, locking it again and removing her cape. A shiver crept slowly up her spine and trickled back down and she folded her arms around herself to shield her from the cold.

'Are you satisfied?' Came the voice from behind her and Christine jumped towards the door, her heart pounding in her chest, beating like a drum, only to her it seemed twice as loud. 'I said, are you satisfied now?'

'I'm not sure…' Christine began, swallowing hard.

'Don't treat me like a fool.'

'I'm sorry,' she said as Madame Giry lit the candle in her hand and walked toward Christine. 'Madame…'

'No,' Madame Giry said firmly.

'You didn't hear what I was going to say.' Christine said as the ballet mistress handed her a blanket to wrap over her shoulders.

'You were going to ask me if I know where he is.' She said, smirking at Christine's puzzled expression. 'The answer is no.'

'How did you know?'

'Because I know you well, child.' She said and ushered Christine out of the kitchen. Christine was glad that it was dark, that the flame of the candle didn't allow much light to be cast onto her face. Her embarrassment was barely concealed otherwise.

'I must know if he is alright.' Christine said as she slowly climbed the stairs ahead of her friend's mother. Christine heard the contempt in Madame Giry before she even said a word.

'You _must_ leave him alone,' she said decisively. Christine opened her mouth to object but Madame Giry grabbed her wrist and spun her around so that they were looking at each other. Christine almost felt herself cower away as the candles lit the steel in Madame Giry's eyes. 'Listen to me.' She said and Christine simply nodded, frightened to open her mouth, scared to speak and make the situation worse. 'You will leave him alone. You have done enough.'

'It wasn't my fault,' Christine murmured, not quietly enough, as the Madame pushed her hard against the wall.

'It wasn't your fault that he fell in love with you, no. You are absolutely right.' She said. 'But tell me this Christine, did you never feel anything for him? Did you never show him an affection which he could confuse for your love? Did you never lead him astray with your words or actions?'

Christine said nothing.

'Child, he is no idiot.' Madame Giry continued. 'He is not stupid, he isn't a boy. He isn't like Raoul.' Christine swallowed back the lump in her throat. She felt suddenly very hoarse. 'He has known women before you Christine, don't fool yourself into thinking that he hasn't, that he couldn't judge your actions.'

'But…'

'Shush,' She said, raising her hand to Christine's lips. 'I won't hear it. You will let sleeping dogs lie, do you hear me? You know he is alive, you know he won't hang, let it go.'

'Madame Giry, how can I?' she asked earnestly.

'You made you decision.' She said, her tone cool. 'It's time to grow up. Sleep in the bed you have made.'

And with that she entered her sleeping quarters leaving Christine stood, pinned against the wall, pulse racing wondering what exactly had just happened.


	9. Nuptials

**Chapter 9- Nuptials. **

'I'm so excited,' Meg squealed as she bent down to smooth the bottom of Christine's dress out. Christine giggled at her and kicked her foot in Meg's direction then watched her fall over backwards. She laughed harder and Meg scowled, before bursting into an ear-to-ear grin.

'Yes, I suppose it is exciting,' she said, offering Meg her hand which was gratefully accepted. Christine plucked Meg from the floor.

'You look exquisite,' She gushed, unable to stop herself from touching the pearls down the front of the dress. 'Finally, something borrowed!' She said handing Christine a box.

Christine glanced at her friend with a small smile and mouthed thank you as she opened it up. Inside was a gold chain to which a small engraved violin was attached. Meg smiled.

'It was my Grandfathers violin,' she said. 'He left it to me and I put it on that chain. I thought it might… well… remind you of your father as you walk down the aisle today.' She looked at her feet as a blush crept onto her face. 'I thought he should be with you…'

'Oh Meg…' Christine said, kissing her friends cheek softly and handing the chain to her maid. She bunched her dark hair into her hand and lifted if from her neck, so that the maid could fasten the chain at the back. As she loosed her hair out, she patted her neck with a smile.

'Lovely,' Meg said softly. 'Pretty as a picture.'

'Thank you,' Christine said, finding a blush of her own on her cheeks.

'I think they're waiting,' Meg said as she saw her mother walk through the door and with a nod Christine followed them both out of the room. Today she would be married.

* * *

He walked in half way through and sat on the back row out of sight and out of mind. His hat was pulled over his face and he viewed the ceremony from under its rim. He had been watching from the tree outside as Christine had entered dressed from head to toe in white, the picture of perfection. The picture of an angel. He had been forced to swallow his heart back down as he saw the way the dress clung to her waist and hung off her body. Her veil covered her and he cursed it for hiding her beauty. She had a face that the God's had sculpted and no person should ever cause her to cover it. 

He looked at the sunlight highlighting her brown curls, making him to run his hands through them and attempt to make even the sun jealous. The church was crowded, packed even, and only the back few rows of the massive hall were empty. Well, except for him. He saw Raoul de Changy waiting for her at the end of the aisle and he watched as a friend of Raoul's walked her down the centre of the room to her fiancés arm.

He gritted his teeth, clenched his jaw hard as they gleefully exchanged their vows and she was made the Vicomtess de Changy. The only person to notice him was Antoinette Giry, his friend and she had nodded him only a small acknowledgement as he sat there in silence. He rubbed his hand over his smooth jaw and stood quietly to leave and as he turned his back to the congregation he heard them pronounced man and wife. He trudged out dejected, heart aching, weighing his chest down. He walked out of the church and down the steps, and brought his hand up to hold the left side of his chest. He smiled wryly as he glanced at the carriage and the servants loading presents into the back.

He would not be buying the happy couple a gift, he thought, the tear drop he had left in his seat was quite enough.


	10. Relationships

**A/N: Amber: Thank you again and again! I loved writing Chapter nine! I like my angst. **

**Modesty: Sorry about the length but they get longer as they story progresses, you should know that. I will be along with a review for your story shortly! I'm sorry you've been so busy.**

**Elizabeth2: Thank you for your review, please stick with me.**

**AngelofMusic: Thank you for your review (s). I like the line in Chapter 8 too, I mean no disrespect to Raoul, he's just so… boyish. **

**And again with another chapter.**

'_Say you need me with you now and always,_

_Promise me that all you say is true, _

_That's all I ask of you.' – Phantom of the Opera, Andrew Lloyd Webber. _

**Chapter 10- Relationships. **

The honeymooners meandered slowly along the sweeping beach, watching it turn into bend after bend as it followed the coastline. The sea splashed in at her feet, it was warm clear water but as it evaporated it cooled her burning toes. Everyone once in a while Christine would dig her tiny toes into the sand just to feel it slip through the gaps. She couldn't remember the last time she had been to the seaside and she was making the most of ever step on the glorious shore.

Sometimes she would simply glance at Raoul, admire his golden hair, his soft eyes and she would think of how incredibly lucky she was. His smile warmed her to the core and every side ways glance he shot her sent a small tingle along her skin. He slipped his arm around her waist, tugging her gently into his body as they both listened to the soft, 'shh' of the sea rolling back into the sand.

'Isn't it wonderful,' she cooed, partly to herself and partly Raoul. He just nodded, kissing her hair and glancing back out to the horizon as the sun began to drop slowly in the sky. It was there last day there.

'Phillipe seems to be much better now,' Raoul said stopping.

'Umm,' Was all she said as she sat in the sand facing the waves, watching them cruise back and forth.

'I'm so happy,' he said. 'The happiest I have been in… forever.'

'I'm glad,' she said, tucking her shoulder under his armpit and resting her head on his.

'I would give up all of money if it was the only way I could be with you,' he said, squeezing her to his body. She smiled and kisses his cheek. 'You do know that, don't you?'

'Yes,' she said, honestly. She didn't doubt it for a second but she doubted her ability to stay with him if he were to give it up. It wasn't the fact that she was accustomed to the lifestyle, far from it. Or that she cared if he was broke, he was worth every second of her time regardless. It was more that he was and she wasn't entirely sure that he could cope with his commodities.

Again his lips brushed over her hair and her smile widened on her lips as she watched the sky turn a fabulous shade of orange- pink. The sun was slowly dipping to the horizon, bowing to the magnificence of the moon. The magnificence of the moon, she thought and soon her smile faded. The moon. The night.

The _music_ of the night.

Angel of night.

Her mind drifted back home, back to Paris under the paleness of the moon she wondered what Erik was doing. She longed to see him, just to see that he really was okay, that he really was alive. She smiled, ghosts came out at night, her ghosts in particular, she thought.

She and Madame Giry had barely said a sentence to one another since that night on the stairs, she had helped with the wedding as she had promised and in the company of others she was civil and polite. However, if they were left alone her eyes would turn unyielding, blue. She was surprised at her anger, at her resolve. She didn't realise that Madame Giry and Erik were so close. Perhaps they had been lovers at one point, she though and closed he eyes.

Perhaps they were lovers now. The thought shook Christine and she opened her eyes just to be sure that Raoul had not vanished from under her and that she was alone. He hadn't and she wasn't. He was still holding her close, silently watching the sun set in the distance. The colours highlighted his features and she kissed him softly. He smiled and stood, holding his hand out to her and lifting her from the floor.

As they wandered back to the room they were renting she kept her eyes firmly on Raouls face, it was all she could do to keep Erik from her mind and when she returned home she felt that she wouldn't be able to stop herself from speaking to Madame Giry about her past with Erik.

* * *

'Grr,' he yelled, throwing his plate along with his food, cutlery and glass. The plate hit first, breaking into what seemed like a million pieces and falling to the floor noisily. The glass followed and the sound was almost deafening. 

'Erik…' she said, as softly as she could but he wasn't hearing it. Didn't want to listen. He turned around to face her but said nothing, just scowled. She shook her head.

'Leave,' he finally said.

'I thought we had been over this,' she said looking at him. He buried his face into his hands and ran his fingers through his hair.

'We have,' he said quietly.

'Then what is the problem?' she asked. He glanced up at her, his long hair flopping over his eyes.

'I can't…' he began and stopped when he saw her expression.

'Of course you can,' she said. 'You have been doing so well, Erik. I'm proud of you. Please don't give up now.'

'I love her,' he said, quieter still, as he lowered his head back into his hands. His large palms cradling it carefully.

'I know,' she whispered, edging to him and sliding her arm around his shoulders. He made an attempt to shrug her off but she held his broad shoulders firmly and eventually he yielded to her, allowing her body to be a cushion to him for a while. She shushed him and he calmed, his anger slowly subsiding.

'I'm sorry,' he said, his voice evening out. Regaining some of its power.

'No need,' she said gently, placing a small kiss on his cheek as she stood. 'Even the most powerful men need friends Erik.'

'Powerful?' he said, with amusement. 'I am no longer that man.'

'Well,' it was her turn to sound amused. She began to walk away and stopped, glancing over her shoulder to say, simply, 'The man I remember is.'


	11. Presence

**A/N: More Erik to come… I promise!**

**Modesty: I've been having problems with FanFic review thingy, I WILL review yours as soon as it is sorted! Thank you for the review and I'm sorry you're having a tough week **

**AngelofMusic: Thank you for your review. I can make the impossible seem possible so bear with me… there is much more to this story than has so far been told.**

**I hope you like this chapter… **

**Chapter 11- Presence**

The wind was hammering the people in the square as they huddled together, getting the best spot possible for the spectacular event. The audience hummed in an excited haze, unconcerned about the poor weather or the others around them. Those at the front had waited for hours; those entering now were forced to take a place at the back. They were standing, of course, as was everyone else.

What was happening today was beyond most people's original comprehension, their biggest ideas. The occasional spot of rain had done nothing to dampen anyone's spirit; some were with their partners as if the romance could not be better captured elsewhere. Some had even brought their children along for the show.

The stage at the front was unusually plain; it was a light wood floor with around eight steps leading up from either side. The back was blocked with yet another panel of wood and all in all the size of the stage was relatively small. It was a relatively small performance, though, although you would never have guessed it.

Christine stood at the rear of the crowd, not because she was forced to but because she chose to. She watched the people buzz around like flies, vying for position closest to the front. Some stole other's places, there was the odd strong word but otherwise there was no trouble as yet, everything was moving along swimmingly.

She glanced forward and spotted her husband, also aiming for a position at the front but all he did was smile at the guards and he was soon there. He was the Vicomte, after all. Raoul was standing next to Philippe and Fredrick, a close friend of the family and as Christine's eyes drifted over the top of the crowd she spotted an abundance of familiar faces.

Andre and his business partner were rather close to the front joined by two attractive young women who were most certainly neither manager's wife. It made Christine smile when she saw the young dancers' crowd around the old men. They had the girls believing that they were the money behind the opera although Christine knew that they had been left with very little after the fire. The rebuilding of the left side of the opera house had taken the entire last two months and the show was due to reopen soon. New dancers and old Ballet Mistress included.

Carlotta was there too, looking all in all the diva, still unchanged from the distance but to those who knew her she was privately withdrawn, preferring her own company and answering no ones visits. She had certainly not been the same since she had lost Piangi and Christine actually, for once, sympathised with her pain. Although La Diva would never admit it, even she could feel loss and it showed now that she was on her own. Christine had heard Carlotta sing recently and she was magnificent. Her loss had put her emotion back into her music and for that the whole of Paris should be grateful.

She did not see Meg but she knew that she was out gallivanting with her Henry. She also didn't see Madame Giry, but then she hadn't really expected too either. By the same token no one, not even Raoul, knew that she was here. Christine had told her husband that she was simply not up to it and would prefer to stay home. After she had been sure he was gone and not returning she had left, wrapped up and covered by a cape.

So there she stood, at the back of the crowd face and body covered with a large, grey cape so that she too could see the show. As she stood there she swayed a little, dizziness overtaking her whilst she thought. She ran her hand over her forehead and realised that despite the cold she was sweating.

Suddenly, the crowd began to chant and jostle and Christine stared over at the gap down the centre. As she watched, a beautiful chestnut mare came into view pulling a cart and she grimaced at the sight of Nadir tied and blindfolded and being pelted with rotten fruit. Her stomach turned and her body shivered forcing her to wrap her arms around herself to stay warm. She glanced back at the stage and watched the noose swing in the wind, swishing from side to side, a deathly omen.

'Murderer,' shouted a man at the front and this was followed by many, many more similar shouts. Some were not as polite. The horse came to a halt and the guards yanked the daroga out of the cart, and dragged him mercilessly up the steps, ensuring his knees hit every one. The Hangman pulled him over and Nadir swayed but steadied himself somehow.

Christine gagged.

The noose was slipped over his head and pulled tighter at the back of his neck, one of the guards kicked the back of his knee and he fell to the floor choking. The hangman pulled him back to his feet, as the guards watched on, laughing in twisted amusement. Their laughs were followed by those of the people in the crowd, including her good husband. She looked over at the Persian and for a moment was sure she saw him smile but it was more than she could take and she rocked from side to side before gathering her senses and attempting to make her way from the crowd.

As she turned she felt a push and spun around, face full of thunder, to be faced with a surprised looking gentleman, who apologised but didn't seem to know what he was apologising for. She shook her head and moved off but, on feeling another tug at her cape, she spun again and this time saw no one looking at her. She had had enough and heaved her way through the heavy crowd to the back and finally down a quiet alleyway, where she leant against the wall and collected her sanity.

She wasn't sure what happened or even why she did it but as she turned to leave the alley she dug her hand into the pocket of her cape and when her hand came out it was holding a blood, red rose tied up in a jet, black ribbon.


	12. History

**A/N: This chapter is totally and utterly unedited so excuse mistakes. I felt it needed to go up 'raw' so please forgive me! Review please… **

**Chapter 12- History**

Christine held the rose in her hand all the way down the cobbled streets, barely feeling the wind, until she arrived at the Giry house. As she walked up she again admired the front door, as she always did, and then she took a deep breath and knocked hard. It was a couple of minutes before she heard the light but steady footsteps of Antoinette Giry on the other side but when she did it was quickly followed by the clanking of bolts opening and the key turning in the door. As it swung open Christine slotted the flower into her cape pocket and smiled at Madame Giry.

'Hello,' she said and stepped forward.

'Meg isn't home,' Madame Giry replied, beginning to close the door.

'It isn't Meg I wish to see,' Christine said, swallowing hard. 'I've come to speak with you.'

Madame Giry frowned for a brief moment before breaking into a knowing smile and stepping aside to clear a path for the wind swept Vicomtess. She took Christine's cape to hang it on the hat rail but as she did the rose dropped from the pocket and floated down, finally settling at the ballet mistress' feet. She glanced down at it and then retrained her eyes onto a very nervous Christine. In a moment Christine fell to her knees, fighting back tears and scooping the rose into her hands, holding it to her chest and looking up at Madame Giry.

'Come, sit,' Her friends mother said, simply stepping over her and walking into the sitting room. Christine wiped her eyes and stood slowly before following Madame Giry. She sat in the seat closest to the fire and placed her hands over the top of the flames, rubbing them together and finding the colour returning slowly to them.

'What do you wish to discuss?' Madame Giry said not taking her eyes away from her young visitor.

'I…' she began but faltered. This was a very, VERY bad idea. She stared at her hands growing a warm pink.

'Erik,' Giry said simply and Christine looked up at her, opening her mouth to speak but closing it quickly. 'Well?'

'Yes,' Christine croaked.

'I thought we had already dealt with this.' She said firmly, eyes still fixed on an immobile Christine. Christine cleared her throat and looked up at Madame Giry.

'I wanted to know… to ask…' she began, coughed again and started over. 'I wanted to know if you and Erik were… together.' Tactful, she thought.

Madame Giry laughed hard and sharp, holding her stomach in sheer amusement. Christine stared and she smiled at her.

'No,' she answered. Christine felt her cheeks burning as she sat there and she realised that the heat from the fire wasn't helping. She shuffled along the seat and focused her eyes to the floor. Was she so wrong? She bit her fear.

'But you were.' She said and Madame Giry laughed again but this time it was different, a slower laugh. Not as amused, not as surprised.

'No,'

'But…'

'We are friends,' she said looking at Christine's face. 'That is all.'

'There's more,' Christine said, shocked at her own fortitude. 'There is.'

'Child…' Madame Giry began but stopped when she saw the emotion on Christine's face. She looked at her chocolate brown eyes, so soft and smooth, so full of feeling and she found herself finally feeling sympathy for the girl. 'Christine, we are friends.'

'Then how do you know…' Christine swallowed. 'How do you know he has known other women?'

For a moment Madame Giry looked taken a back but she simply smiled and stood, walking closer to Christine. Christine glanced up at her, feeling the flames flicker along the side of her face. The pops and crackles of the fire were the only noises in the room for what seemed like an eternity, they seemed so loud.

'I met Erik when I was fifteen years old,' she began and Christine started to relax. 'He was part of a travelling carnival, part of their damned freak show.' She brushed the front of her dress, Christine almost thought that she looked nervous. 'I saw him… just… he was just lying there caked in mud, cowering like a beaten animal. How dare someone, anyone, treat another person that way?'

'I had no idea,' Christine said, choking. Madame Giry shook her head slowly, no longer focused on Christine's face but thinking back, focused on the pictures of her memory.

'He was filthy, the place stunk, lying in… oh, and they paraded him like a monster, like a criminal, calling him the Devil's child … as if they had that right.' She blinked and Christine thought for a second that she spotted a tear in the Madame's eye. 'I fed him… an orange, he ate it in seconds… poor boy… he was starving, they had starved him, Christine… do you know how that feels?'

'No,' Christine said, shaking her head but listening intently.

'I went back for him, you know?' she said. 'That night, I helped him to escape.'

Christine opened her mouth but nothing came out.

'I took him to the opera, it was me who put him in its cellar, me who helped him.' Madame Giry looked at Christine. 'We have been friends since and when I married I was mortified that I could never invite him to my happy day.'

Christine nodded.

'When my husband left I felt so alone, so terribly alone. Such a horrible feeling and suddenly Erik and I had something in common.' She smiled to herself. 'We were both lonely.'

'I'm so sorry…' Christine said. Madame Giry shook her head firmly from side to side.

'No need,' she said. 'It was the night my husband left me that I visited Erik and we spoke about our solitude. His was a literal solitude and mine more emotional but we were equally lonely never the less.'

'What happened?' Christine asked, watching as the ballet mistress reached over and took a sip of water.

'We drank liquor and spoke for hours,' she said. 'And then, when it was time to leave I stood and he followed… when I got to the door he kissed me deeply.' Christine's mouth gaped. 'I had never been kissed with so much rawness in all my life and he pulled me close.'

'I…' Christine started but couldn't finish.

'We both gave in to each other that night, I stayed the entire night in his lair,' she said softly, more to herself than to Christine. 'That night neither of us felt alone.'

Christine felt the vomit from earlier in the day attacking her throat and she swallowed it back down. Madame Giry looked at her and laughed, much to Christine's dismay.

'It never happened again,' she said and touched Christine's shoulder softly. 'I was not what he wanted, he was not what I wanted… that night it was a sense of need, not love or want… simply need. The need of another person, another body… some warmth and comfort.'

'Do you…' Christine began, rubbing her throat which was suddenly hoarse. 'Do you love him?'

'Oh Christine,' she said with a small smile. 'We are simply friends.'

'That is not what I asked.' Christine said, leaping to her feet to confront Madame Giry, surprised at her own anger.

'I do care and in a sense that is love,' she said, not at all moved by Christine's display. 'So yes, I do love him but not the way you do.'


	13. A Situation

**A/N: Thank you all for the reviews! No Erik in this chapter BUT Erik in the next… I promise!**

**AngelofMusic: Thank you again for your lovely reviews. My take on Madame Giry and Erik's relationship is always around the same point. That they are friends… sometimes I develop that sometimes I don't but I think that she is a key character.**

**Spike: Thank you for the reviews! I am updating constantly. This chapter actually has two versions, the other is totally different. This one works better.**

**Amber: The ending of chapter 11 was meant exactly the way you have imagined. I think he was there to see his friend and that he knew how she must be feeling, after all he knows her perfectly, does he not? Thank you for the compliments on Chapter 12, I was worried how it might turn out… thank you again!**

**Modesty: lol 'that's what they ALL say;'' hehe, thank you for the review. FanFic finally let me review your story too! Very good might I add. Thank you once again for your review!**

'_Help me say goodbye' –Christine Daae, Phantom of the Opera._

**Chapter 13- A situation. **

'Where can I find him?' Christine asked, through a shield of phlegm. She hadn't cried but all of the outward signs were there, all of those signs except for the tears. Her voice was croaky, her heart was pumping, her eyes were sore.

'You can't,' Madame Giry replied, they were still facing each other and had been for what seemed like an eternity. The mantel clock chimed, it was early evening and the night was beginning to set in.

'You tell me all of this! You tell me… about… Oh God,' She fell back on her seat, gripping the arm of the chair, her mails digging in. She wasn't going to lose her composure. 'You tell me all, yet you won't tell me what I truly wish to know!'

'He doesn't want to see you,' Madame Giry replied, calm and composed. Cold as ever. The brief moment of understanding that had past between them was long gone and there she stood, staring down at the youth, sympathy rapidly evaporating.

'You lie,' Christine choked. 'He left me a rose.'

'Yes, I know, I saw it,' she said, stepping back without taking her eyes away from Christine. 'That doesn't mean that he wishes to see you.'

'Please…' Christine said, tears finally building under her eyelids. 'The rose…'

'He left you many roses Christine, you paid no mind to them.'

'Madame,' she began but stopped. Madame Giry walked to the door and opened it, looking back over to Christine.

'I think you should go to your husband,' she said, firmly. It was not a suggestion, it was an order. Christine dropped her head into her hands and sobbed quietly but Madame remained unmoved, still propping the door open with her arm.

'I just want to say…' she said, wiping a tear from under her eye with the back of her hand. She glanced at Madame Giry, 'I want to tell him how sorry I am.'

'You will ruin him again?' The ballet mistress asked and stepped away from the door to take the seat next to Christine. She slid her arm over her shoulders in a half hug.

'That isn't what I want,' she said, leaning into Madame Giry.

'Then let it be,'

'I… I can't.'

'He is mending, Child,' Madame Giry said. 'It is slow but he is mending. Don't be the undoing of that.'

'I don't want to undo anything,' Christine whispered.

'Then don't,' Giry said, quickly. Christine glanced at her, wiping her eyes again.

'I have to see him, this won't end, it won't go away.' She said. 'He needs to hear what I have to say.'

'No _you_ need him to hear it,' Madame Giry snapped.

'Yes,' Christine sniffed. 'Perhaps I do but is that so wrong?'

'Wrong enough,' she said.

'Why are you so adamant, Madame?' Christine growled, finding her anger. 'Do you want him for yourself?' Madame Giry stared at her, indifferent. 'Then he is yours! I only want him to know that I'm sorry, you may have him … if he will have you!'

Madame Giry watched her for a moment before standing slowly and lifting the poker from beside the mantel and prodding the coals with it gently. She glanced back at Christine, who was glaring at her and she smiled. Then the smile melted into a laugh, which rocked her from the inside, the ballet mistress laughed hysterically as Christine sat watching. The flames bounced around the room to the rhythm of Madame Giry's laughter and Christine suddenly felt very small.

'You're a naïve fool, Christine de Changy,' she finally managed to say, as the laughter slowly subsided. 'I am no liar, Erik is my friend, my true friend and I won't see him damaged by you again…'

Madame Giry had no chance to finish what she was saying as the door burst open and Meg bounded in, followed by Philippe de Changy. Meg was in mid sentence about the visitor wanting to ask about the new chorus before she spotted Christine and ground to a halt, pursued by Philippe. They both glanced from the Madame to Christine, whose red face, tear stained cheeks and blood shot eyes were a telling story.

'Christine,' Meg said, running to her friend and pulling her close. 'What on earth is wrong?'

Christine said nothing, not through ignorance but rather the fact that she was staring at Philippe, who was looking less than impressed at the spectacle before him. She opened her mouth to speak but he raised his hand to her and turned his gaze to Madame Giry.

'Dare I ask?' he said, perfect eloquence as ever, even through his obvious anger. Madame Giry shook her head and was about to speak before he stopped her and began again. 'This wouldn't have anything to do with the hanging today, would it?'

Madame Giry shot Christine a glance and Christine shook her head from side to side but it was not enough. Philippe's jovial disposition was nowhere to be seen, his face was almost purple with rage as he visibly swallowed his anger.

'I will see Raoul,' he said and ignored the protests of the women in the room. 'Your lover warrants so much emotion yet you spend no time with my brother today.'

'Philippe, he is not my lover!' Christine cried but he glared at her.

'_Is_ not Christine?' He spat. 'What is the matter? Can you not accept that he is dead?'

'You've got it so wrong,' she said. 'I love Raoul.'

'You love Raoul do you?' he said. 'You love Raoul and despise the monster yet were not near us at the hanging today?' He stepped towards Christine, who cowered back into her seat. 'Couldn't face it?'

'It wasn't…'

'Shut up,' he snapped. 'And to think I was beginning to like you, you pathetic child. I hope you meet your lover in hell… because it will not be until hell freezes over that you get my brothers assets.'

'Enough,' said Madame Giry. 'Comte De Chagny you should be ashamed of yourself. Jumping to conclusions and running at the mouth in someone else's home.'

Philippe glanced at Christine once more before drifting back to look at Madame Giry, who was standing tall as she always did with an air of authority even the gentleman was respectful of.

'Indeed,' he said, gently. 'I spoke truly out of turn.' He stepped towards the ballet mistress and took her hand, bowing to kiss it softly. 'I apologise for my inconsideration.'

'Thank you,' Madame Giry said, bowing her heads slightly.

'I will be leaving,' he said, backing away towards the door. 'Please forgive me, Madame. Perhaps we shall take lunch tomorrow at the Opera house and discuss the plans for the future of the chorus?'

'Yes,' Madame Giry said, following him to the door. 'I have some ideas that I would like to discuss with you.'

'Then tomorrow,' he said and smiled, dashing. 'Good night Madame, Goodnight Madamoiselle.' He said, to Antoinette and Meg but ignoring Christine and with that he left, as Madame Giry clicked the door shut behind him.

'Well,' she said as she walked back into the living room. 'It appears we have a situation.'


	14. A War Within

**A/N: I'm not sure what it was about this chapter but I found it really tough to write and this was the third version I put out. I actually quite like the finished product.**

**Amber: Thank you for the compliments. I'm trying to make Antoinette believable but give her an extra depth, I wanted her to be a bigger feature in this story than she was in Coincidences. Though even in that I thought she was integral to the story.**

**Modesty: Thank you for the review. You're making excellent progress on your fic, I can't wait to read more about your new character.**

**AngelofMusic:- I think Philippe is an interesting character, maybe he is trying to protect Raoul, maybe he has alterior motives…Thank you for your time to read and review!**

**Becks: Thank you for the review, please keep reading. **

**You All made my day!**

**Chapter 14- A War Within **

The constant drip, drip, drip of the damp from the ceiling in the corner to the pail beneath was slowly starting aggravate his nerves. Drip. He stood and paced, wandered to the cupboard at the far end of the room and drew out a book, opened it and read the first few lines on the page he had left it at.

'When you shall these unlucky deeds relate, Speak of me as I am; nothing extenuate,' he read aloud. 'Nor set down aught in malice: then must you speak, Of one that loved not wisely, but too well'

He snapped the book shut with a crack and threw it to the back of the cupboard. He pondered as he paced how Othello, as magnificent an individual he was, could ever kill the woman he loved. To allow her to die at his own hands, at anyone's hands. Othello, foolish yet intelligent. Driven to jealous murder by the person he thought was closest to him. Driven to murder.

Perhaps _he_ was _Erik_.

No, Erik might not be a master of love or romance, he may not be the expert but he knew that fundamentally, that deep, deep down, at the core, in his own black heart, that if anyone so much as laid their hands on his love he would kill them.

He placed his hand on his chest and collapsed back into his seat. The pain ripped through him again, flowed through his veins and poisoned his weak heart. The thought of her sent him reeling, his head pounded and his body ached, he barely had the energy to open his eyes when he heard the door open.

'Erik,'

'Antoinette,' he said softly and glanced at her standing in the doorway. She walked in and stood next to the large oak table he had sculpted in his now perpetually free time.

'Are you okay?' she asked and was greeted by a hollow laugh.

'Oui,' he said and lay his head against the back of the chair. 'Bored.'

'The books?' she asked as she walked around to pour herself a cup of water from the jug.

'Are about love.' He said simply and she nodded, she understood.

'Then go out,' she suggested but he scoffed. 'Eat then'

'Eat,' he said, repeating her word. 'Eat then… eat what? Nothing will make me feel satisfied, Antoinette.'

She looked at him, dishevelled and thin, he looked tired and she knew that he had not eaten in days. His dark hair was long and flopping over his face, which did not make him unattractive but it certainly made him darker. It hung over his mask, the white shining through the gaps and his hair covered his eyes. It made him mysterious, as if he were not mysterious enough already.

'Erik,'

'Antoinette, you worry too much.' He said with a faint shadow of a smile. 'I am getting better.'

Antoinette stared at him, seeing how poor he looked, how drained and she shook her head gently but he didn't move, the small smile remained on his lips. His clothes, at least, were clean which was better than she could say of the month previous. She supposed that getting better was true, but better was quite a way off. Her ran his fingers through his hair, pushing it back and away from his mask, showing his eyes which gleamed blue in the glimmering light from the window.

'I think I need a hair cut,' he said and his smile widened. Antoinette returned his smile with a genuine grin of her own and sifted through his cabinet for scissors.

Erik stood and wandered towards her, grabbing a stool on his way. He placed a soft kiss on her cheek and walked away to the fire, over which a tin of water stood. She watched as he dipped his finger into it and then took it from the heat. His hands curled around a cup and he scooped up the water, hanging his head back over the pail of water and pouring it over his head, wetting his hair. He repeated this a few times, letting the water drip from his hair onto his shirt. Antoinette watched as it rolled from his nose and fell back to the bucket. She handed him one of his self made oils which lathered when it was rubbed into his hair, making a sweet smelling foam over his hair and falling towards his eyes.

When he had finished washing the foam from his hair he walked back and sat on the stool, dipping his head slightly, letting his friend trim its edges and cut it back short. She took off, what seemed to him as he looked at the discarded hair at his feet, like all of it. When she tapped both of his shoulders with her hands he leapt to his feet and ran his hands over his head to check that he still had some hair left. Satisfied he turned and smiled.

'How do I look?' he asked, brushing the short hairs from his shoulders.

'Getting better,' she said and returned his smile.


	15. Vicomtess

**A/N: Short chapter, apologies!**

**Chapter 15- Vicomtess **

It had been days since her confrontation with Philippe and not had word had been mentioned by Raoul, who was treating her as he always did. She listened in the morning warmth, to the birds singing softly outside the window. She eased herself from her bed and pushed the curtain aside with her finger, glanced out over the garden and allowed herself a half satisfied smile. The grounds were beautiful and they were hers. The garden, the land, went as far as her eyes could see, its perimeter was perfectly lined by trees, green as the emerald hanging on the night stand.

She admired the pond in the centre as the sun bounced off it causing the reflections to dance in its ripples to the music of nature. She could hear the fountain's gentle hissing and it relaxed her. She watched the help walk around, taking in the garden themselves, laughing with each other and going about their jobs like professionals. She loved the relaxed atmosphere that the servants were allowed to live in, she respected the way the De Chagney's treated their staff.

Her own maid walked in and smiled at her, holding out a bowl of steaming water. Christine smiled back and motioned for her to sit on the bed with her, for a moment she resisted but then, at Christine's insistence she sat and placed the bowl on the table in front of her.

'You're new,' Christine said and the maid nodded. 'What's your name?'

'Lucia,' she said quietly, faint accent, not French.

'Lucia,' Christine repeated and grinned. 'I wish to wash and dress myself today.'

'Are you sure?' Lucia asked and Christine nodded, politely shooing her away. Lucia stood, dipped her head in a half bow at Christine and left her to her own devices.

She plunged her hands into the water and splashed it over her face, wiped it away with the flannel and then did it again, enjoying the way the water crawled along the lines of her face, tickling her. She heard her husband's voice at the end of the corridor and was sure he was singing to himself. A few beats later and he walked in. Without a word kissed Christine's lips softly and then harder, pushing her down to the bed. She kissed him back, but not with the same fervour as he kissed her. His hands gripped her and gasped but it wasn't pleasure, it was nothing. Her mind had been in a spin but she knew that her body ached for him. Her mind ached for him. It was her heart that was the problem.


	16. Memories

**A/N: Sorry it is taking me so long to update. I will make an attempt to get another chapter up before I go out tonight but it's unlikely. Please forgive and stay with me… I'm looking for full time work now that university is over and it is taking a lot of my time.**

**Amber: Ahh, Philippe… we'll see about Philippe. Thank you for the compliments again. I found the hair cutting chapter tough to write but I think it turned out ok and I think it is necessary. **

**Modesty: Thank you for your reviews, as usual, they made me smile. I will try to update more regularly if you do!**

**Phantomandvampire: Thank you for the review, I appreciate it… I hope you stick with it and like how it progresses.**

**AngelofMusic: Of course, Erik needs to be happy again! But when that will be, if that will be, who knows.**

**Chapter 16- Memories.**

The sun glowed red- orange on the horizon and Antoinette sat on the park bench in front of her house watching it set slowly, taking the light with it. The moon was slowly appearing behind her and she marvelled at its shape, it was crescent and glowing perfectly in the clear sky. Soon, it would be the only light available to some. She thought about Erik and Christine and it made her stomach churn. Christine had accused her of jealousy but it was hardly the case, what she could not deny was protectiveness over her friend, but jealousy it was not.

She had seen Erik safely from the dark catacombs of the Opera House that fateful night over two months ago. The mob descended on him rapidly as they followed Raoul's steps along the dusty corridors. They were lucky that Erik's anger had been him foolish, he had smashed many of the mirrors lining the walls, giving the crowd an easy path to follow. Erik had destroyed his own security in breaking those mirrors, the ones he had put up to fool any intruders. The mirrors had succeeded on more than one occasion.

She had seen the final confrontation from the corner of the room, hidden behind a stack of Erik's books. Raoul's throat trust up in a lasso, almost hanging from the ceiling. Erik's magnificence fooling the Vicomte, lulling him into a ridiculous sense of security. There had been no security. The boys sword had been no match for Erik's wit, his swiftness and before Raoul could even draw his weapon from his side the rope was around his neck.

Christine had looked utterly horrified, her face already streaked with dirty tears and splodges of misplaced make up from her performance. She had stepped forward and Erik's hand had risen and she had stepped back pleading with him to release her intended. The phantom, as he were, had found it amusing but she remembered the look on his face when his sense of humour diminished and in its place stood pure anger. Pure and total anger.

The argument ensued, the whole bitter row, the torrid words crumbling the atmosphere into a pit of eggshells, broken by clumsy feet. Erik had growled, low in his throat, as he threw his insults at the Vicomte, at Christine. They bounced off Raoul's shoulders as he retaliated with abuse of his own but Christine had been different. Antoinette remembered how the shadow covered her eyes and how Christine's face had fallen at Erik's onslaught. The event was ultimately childish in it's build up but nothing was childlike about the emotions, about the feelings inside all of them. Including her.

Christine had been angry at first, argued with him, berated him and then she had tried to reason with him as the realisation that Raoul could soon be dead bit at her throat like a vampire. As they stood there in the lake, knee high on Erik and washing around Christine's thighs, the building above them burned as if enforcing the rage which bubbled in its cellar.

_You've past the point of no return_.

His eyes set firmly up on her.

_You deceived me, I gave my mind blindly…_

Raoul or Erik?

_Pitiful creature of darkness, what kind of life have you know, God give me courage to show you, you are not alone…_

And then, Antoinette witnessed the single most spectacular thing she thought she would ever see. No, it wasn't Christine reaching out and holding Erik's dark and disfigured face between her palms. It wasn't the fact that she kissed him softly and stopped, and then kissed him again with more passion, more meaning. It wasn't that Raoul did not avert his gaze, that his eyes were welded to the scene before him.

No.

What was spectacular was that when Christine pulled away from him some moments later, Erik's face was full of an emotion she had never witnessed in him before, an emotion she didn't recognise from him. His eyes shone with the stars of a thousand nights, the tears streaked his cheeks, catching on his lip and dripped from his face.

And more spectacular still was that somewhere is his darkness he found the strength to let her go.


	17. Lurking Evil

**Chapter 17- Lurking Evil.**

Christine sat alone on a solitary bench in the local park. She could not deny its beauty but her mind drifted back to her own garden and its magnificence. It was early evening and very few people had past her although at one point she was sure that she had seen Madame Giry across the way. Christine plucked a twig from the floor and rolled it between her thumb and forefinger, watching the tiny knots dance as it twirled. She threw it back to the ground and stood up to walk. It was the perfect night for it, so warm and dry yet not humid, none of the stifling dampness in the air that there had been. She had half expected a massive thunderstorm but none had come and instead the ground remained dry and the air pure.

She walked slowly along the winding path around the outskirts of the field, admiring the flowers she past along the way and occasionally stopping in her tracks to take a closer look at the animals hiding behind some of the bushes. Slowly, she realised that the birds were starting to stop singing and that the night was becoming gradually more silent. She clicked her heals against the floor as she walked, deciding to drag her feet as she did as a child. She giggled to herself as she remembered her father chastising her harshly and then conceding defeat and lifting her up onto his shoulders. She felt so high that she would reach out to touch the clouds but somehow she could never quite reach. He told her that one day he would give her the clouds so that she could sleep on them as she grew. She believed him. He also told her that he would send her an angel of music. She believed him then and she sometimes even believed him now.

She nudged a brick into the grass with her toe as she continued her walk and lifted her hand up the smooth her hair from around her face. The night was moving in around her and the moon ahead was a pearl sewn on to a velvet sky. Ahead the park became slightly wooded and she headed for it, hoping to find a rabbit or fox coming out for their nightly stroll. She stepped in and the shadows were blacker and suddenly she began to feel uneasy.

On she walked through the woodland and the further into the darkness she got the worse she felt. Her stomach flipped and her heart beat rapidly and she found her feet moving much faster than her mind. As she progressed, she lost more and more of the light and her body began to ache, she felt sweat rolling down the centre of her back and she swallowed hard. She could barely see any moon through the top of the trees and she certainly could not see the exit at the other end.

The trees reached in to touch her and every sound made her heart stop and then suddenly pound hard in her chest, making her lift her hand to make sure that it had stayed there. _Snap_. She spun around to where she had heard the sound and was greeted with nothing but black air. She circled slowly and looked back ahead but now she could not remember which way was forward and which was back. Her pulse raced. She carried on in the direction she thought, trying to remain composed but walking quicker. _Snap. _Her hand flew to her heart and she turned on her heals again, nothing.

She walked on, unrelenting, determined to find the street, it couldn't be far now surely. Could it? She felt like she had been walking forever, her feet stung and she so wanted to stop and sit but… _snap…_ againshe looked behind her, this time over her shoulder rather than turning. She refused to stop walking.

_Snap!_

Her heart thudded hard once more before her feet began to move faster and finally she was running. Hard. Bolting forward, anywhere but towards that sounds. She continued, feet moving over the ground but she made the mistake of looking down and she lost her balance tumbling to the floor.

It was a few moments before a hand reached down and plucked her from the floor and her relief was soon marred by fear when she saw the face in front of her.

'Philippe, thank you,' she said, uneasily. He smiled weakly and she noticed his similarity to a royal weasel.

'Christine,' he said curtly. 'What are you doing out at this time?'

'I…' she began and then swallowed hard, starting to back away. 'I was just taking a walk.'

'Alone?' He asked, but did not wait for a reply. 'Who have you met?'

'No one, Philippe, really.' She said and felt a bead of sweat forming on her brow.

'One of your callers?' he snarled.

'I have no callers,' she felt tears pricking her eyes. 'Please…'

'Liar,' he growled stepping towards her. He took her hands in his. Gripping her wrists firmly, she struggled to free herself. He was too powerful and he threw her back to the floor. She landed hard on her back and yelped. 'Whore.'

'No,' she croaked, trying to lift herself up. Philippe, stepped so that he was standing over her. She looked up at him, fear covering her face.

'I haven't told Raoul about the other day,' he said menacingly.

'I appreciate that but…' she began and he hissed at her to shut up.

'I should,' he said. 'But then… I suppose, I might not.'

Christine swallowed again and she felt like her heart was thudding against her ribs. Again she tried to push herself up and he pushed her back down with his foot. He knelt down where he stood, a knee either side of her waist, she was pinned and the horror of what was happening hit her like a bolt of lightening.

'We can come to an arrangement,' he said with a smirk as he reached out for her throat gripping it with his hand as his other ran down the front of her body.

She couldn't scream, she could barely breath. Panic finally froze her kicking. She felt him touching her and tried to remove herself from him, he was speaking and she tried not to hear. She tried not to think. His hands were on her buttons, undoing them, she gagged but his hand pressed harder onto her throat. And then…

He stopped.

She slowly opened her eyes to see Philippe kneeling totally still, he was breathing, looking down at her but not moving or trying to undress her. It wasn't until _he_ spoke that she knew he was there.

'If you touch her again I will push this through your back,'


	18. The Ghost

**A/N: Modesty: Thanks for the really, really fast review! I am looking forward to reading your update. Yes it was dark and so was the next and I anticipate darker chapters coming soon! Stick with me.**

**AngelofMusic: I wanted Philippe to be a tool in this and to be much deeper that Leroux made him. I think in the book some of the characters often came across as hollow. Thank you for you review, I appreciate it. **

**Starfire: Is it Erik? Hmm… read on…**

'_To have no heroes is to have no aspiration, to live on the momentum of the past, to be thrown back upon routine, sensuality, and the narrow self...' Charles Cooley_

**Chapter 18- The Ghost.**

Philippe knelt bolt upright, the shock had almost made him swallow his own tongue. He had been drinking most of the day, tired of gaining no attention from his intended he had decided to go for a short stroll. There he had seen his brother's wife wandering through the park and had felt compelled by something within to follow her. He had watched as her hips swung as she moved and he felt himself stir inside.

When Christine had walked into the wooded area he had been unable to stop himself from following her through, she had heard him a few times and he had managed to hide but she had realised she was being stalked and began to bolt. Fortunately, as it was at the time, she lost her footing and fell to the ground giving him the opportunity to catch up.

He wasn't sure what he was thinking when he pushed her back down, the alcohol had swished around in his mind and he clearly had not been thinking straight. However, she was beautiful if not common and if other men could have her why couldn't he? She had obviously … seen things, she cared less for Raoul than she was letting on and he wanted to know what men found so utterly attractive about Christine de Chagny.

Foolishly, as he had followed her, he had not realised that, he too, had been followed into the woods.

Philippe had heard nothing, absolutely nothing, until it was too late. By the time he heard the faint rustle from behind him, he had felt the distinct pressure of the point of a sword dead centre in his back. So now he sat with his hands by his sides, unmoving, and praying that he would be freed.

'If you touch her again I will push _this_ through your back.'

The man had not shouted, nor had he raised his voice at all, he hadn't even emphasised the words by pushing the weapon forward but Philippe had no doubt that he would do it. It was the voice itself that gave it away. It was, although quiet, purely menacing in a way he had never heard before. The way the words rolled off his tongue with ease and no emotion shook Philippe to the core. There was no gravel, no harsh accent, it wasn't royalty nor was it peasant. It was unremarkable in such a way that it was unique. There would be no way that Philippe would ever find this man again, after today, by the sound of his voice alone.

'Sir…' he said and felt a gentle prod in his back. He stopped and closed his eyes, his heart slowing finally.

'Madame, shuffle backwards,' the man instructed and Christine looked at Philippe and did as she was told. She heaved herself backwards with her hands and finally she was out from under her brother-in-law's body. 'Now you, move backwards.'

Philippe tried to stand and the man hit him hard against the shoulder with the palm of his free hand. The force had sent him flying forward, to the floor, face first, landing on his front. His chest ached and he considered reaching for his weapon but though better of it… something told him that, if he did, it would be the last time he ever held a sword.

'Come,' came the voice from behind him and he saw Christine struggle to her feet and limp around him to the man. Was this someone she knew? 'You.'

'Yes?' Philippe said, trying to hide his fear.

'Stand but don't turn around.' Intimidating. Philippe eased himself onto his feet and stepped forward, away from the voice. 'Keep going.'

He did, Philippe walked ahead without turning until he was sure he had created enough distance between himself and the man behind him. As he started to feel safe he looked over his shoulder slowly and saw nothing but blackness in the distance. There was no man nor Christine, the whole woods seemed as empty as the night itself. He stepped back, straining his eyes to see something, anything, but he saw nothing.

Just as he began to believe that his mind had been playing tricks on him, due to his drinking that day, he caught a glimpse of something in the distance. He moved forward slightly to get a better look and as he did it became slightly clearer. What he saw was a glimpse of white light, or was it a light? No, it wasn't but it _was_ white and it was small in the distance and moving further away. He strained his eyes once again and as he did he realised that what was staring back at him was a half mask and the colour suddenly fell out of Philippe's face.

He looked like he had just seen a ghost.


	19. Christine and the Phantom

**A/N: Thank you all.**

**Amber: Thank you for the reviews, I'm glad you liked them. There is more to come…**

**Starfire: Well, somebody will have to deal with Philippe won't they? Thank you so much for the review.**

**Ahomelesspirate: Thank you, in particular, for your review. It's so nice to receive so many compliments even if I feel like I do not deserve them. You made my night, I just hope that I don't let you down!**

**And to all, thank you for your patience, I give you…**

**Chapter 19- Christine and the Phantom. **

His voice had been like heaven in her ears, more than it had ever been before. The instructions he gave her were clear, concise and low. He had said nothing more than he had to and done nothing more than he had needed to, but he had been there. Now she was in his arms, with cloth over her eyes so that she could not see. He hadn't spoken to her since he told her to come to him in the woodland after that he had lifted her from the floor without a word and carried her along. They had stopped ten minutes away and he had placed her on a bench, covered her eyes with the material and pulled her back up, continuing to walk. She did not question him, she knew better than that.

Christine wasn't sure if she should speak to him, if she should thank him or, even, what she should do but her mind fought her heart hard and, eventually, she made the decision to stay quiet. At least for now. It felt as if they had been moving for hours, they hadn't stopped since she had been blindfolded and she could feel the night turning cool around her bare arms.

She didn't know how long it was before they stopped and he stood her on her own feet and removed her blindfold. It took a minute for her eyes to adjust after being covered for so long and by the time they did, Erik had walked inside and she found herself staring up at a house. She tried to walk forward and stumbled, her ankle throbbing hard, she placed her hand on the wall and remained still. After a moment she felt sufficiently composed to hobble into the small doorway and through into what seemed to be a dining area.

She gazed around noticing the dark crevices in the corners of the room, the shadows cast long from the light of the moon, hitting the wall in front of her. The room was relatively sparse compared to its size, there was a small table, four or five stools, a cabinet and two seats, one long and one with arms. It didn't take her long to recognise their design, Erik had sculpted them himself. Across the room the wood fire was burning with a low heat, small flames darting in and out of the logs. It made the room blush an ochre shade from wall to wall, a sharp contrast of the shadows she had noticed when she first entered.

She limped to the long chair, her eyes glancing around, searching for Erik but they didn't find him. She sat and then, suddenly feeling faint, lifted her feet to rest them on the seat. Her eyelids began to feel heavy and drooped over her eyes, she blinked to stop them but again they fell and she felt the sweet, smothering sensation of sleep simmer over her.

What woke her wasn't a sound or a movement but the consciousness of someone looking at her. She opened her eyes slowly, allowing light to seep in the slits, and as they opened wider she took in the figure of Erik sitting by her feet. He was still the same brooding Erik, silent and mysterious, the mask still covering the left of his face as he looked down at her. She was surprised that he was staring at her ankle and not her face and part of her ached with disappointment. When he glanced up she quickly averted her eyes to the door and when she felt him move away from her, she looked over to see him reaching for a length of material.

He delicately touched her leg, moving it so that it rested over his lap. He took some water and rubbed it gently onto her ankle and it soothed immediately. The water was warm and smelled of lavender and she watched his concentration carefully.

'It looks swollen,' she said to him and he looked up, gave a sharp nod and continued what he was doing. He lifted her leg gently and lay the material underneath it and placed it carefully back down. Then he pulled both sides of the material around her leg and wrapped it tightly into a bandage.

He said nothing and did not look up, just focused on his task and tended to her injured ankle. She looked at him, keeping her eyes fixed to his body. She noticed that he was thinner than she remembered but his hands seemed softer. His face was more drawn, his body seemed smaller but his eyes were the same, they still glowed that perfect blue in the dark. That deep, serene blue that captivated her soul, that blue they turned when he was thinking, when he was singing, when he was at his most amazing.

'It's tight,' She said, and he glanced back up at her with a nod, and, pushing her foot off him, he stood up. He grabbed a cup from the cabinet and filled it with water from a jug on the table, he handed it to her along with a small pill. She frowned at him. 'What is it?'

He didn't reply, instead he reached out for her hand, placed the pill in it and grabbed her other hand and fit the cup into it. He turned and left the room with out a single sound being uttered from his lips. Christine looked down at the pill, a brown-green colour, and then at the glass of water. First she took a slow sip of the water which was cool on her tongue and felt like bliss as it trickled down her throat. Then she placed the tablet on her tongue, taking another mouthful of water, she swallowed it. She wasn't sure what it was nor was she sure why she had taken it so readily but she did.

She eased herself to a seated position and rested her hand gently in her lap, still taking in her surroundings. She glanced over at the only window in the room to see if she knew where she was but she could barely see anything from the window. Trees swayed gently in the distance but the night was dark and the little light from the moon barely lit anything at all.

It was a few minutes before Erik wandered back in with his jacket and hat on. He walked to her and held out his hand, which she took obediently, and he pulled her to her feet, steadying her when she shifted the weight to her good ankle. He gently pulled her arm over his broad shoulders and began to walk, holding her upright as she limped next to him. They went slowly outside and Erik patted his leg twice and looked to his right. From the shadows to the side of the house clicking could be heard getting gradually louder and as the sound was upon them she saw a black shape emerging.

The horse was a tall stallion, black as the night and twice as beautiful. He stood in front of them and Erik stroked his neck while Christine admired his magnificence. He was black all over except for one white mark over his left eye and with a smile, Christine realised he looked like he was wearing a mask and she knew why Erik had chosen him. In silence Erik threw the reigns over the stallion and tightened them up, he placed the saddle on his back, buckled it carefully and ensured that the fastenings were not pinching the horse. Then he turned to face Christine, his face cold and unmoving he lifted her up and on to the horses back. He closed the door, locked it and returned to the stallion, climbing on so that he was sitting behind her he pulled the reigns around and released them so that they rested in his lap.

Christine felt the softness of the material fall over her eyes before she knew what he was doing, he tied it behind and made sure that it would not slip and again she was plunged into darkness. She felt Erik pick the reigns up and give the horse a soft nudge in the side with his heel. He had still said nothing.

Christine listening to the click, click, click of the hooves and she leaned back into Erik's body as he controlled the horse. She was unsure how long they travelled before they stopped and she felt Erik jump off the stallion. Unsure what to do she lifted her hands and removed the blindfold herself, then glanced down to the side as her eyes got used to the light. She recognised where they were immediately and she glanced over at Erik who was simply standing looking up at her. For a moment she was caught in his eyes, unable to move herself at all. She felt herself splashing in their sea of blue as she drowned before he turned away and saved her again.

'I'm home,' she said softly and he walked over and lifted her from the horses back. He still didn't move his lips to form a sentence. 'I can't… what if…'

'He won't,' Erik said, firmly, and Christine felt her body begin to tremble. He pulled himself back up onto his horse and turned him around to face the exit at the back of the house.

'What do I say..?' she asked, her voice beginning to crack.

'You're a most apt liar, Christine, I'm sure you'll think of something,' and with that he rode off into the distance leaving Christine with her only her tears.


	20. Homecoming

**A/N: Wow, thank you for all of the wonderful reviews, I'm hoping that I can clear some of the queries up. **

**Amber: What a long review, I appreciate the time you took on it. I'm still in two minds about giving Christine a real backbone in this but I'm trying so hard to keep her to the character that Leroux and Webber created between them. I find Christine an annoying character generally lol but I like her in a strange way and I am hoping that I can develop her slowly into a character almost worthy of Erik's attention. **

**Modesty: It's pretty true that women weren't supposed to walk alone, they tended, particularly the rich, to walk with a chaperone. But Christine in the book, play and movie never did and I find that although she can be annoying she certainly has a mind of her own. Perhaps quite bratt-ish in a way, also as one of the poorer classes (the way she grew up) I would expect her to take exception to being watched constantly. However, you bring up a good point which I had been leading to… which will be addressed in this chapter.**

**Ahomelesspirate: Thank you again for your review, I can see why Erik won't speak to her either. On the one hand he is angry, he is hurt and he is alone… she left him. On the other he doesn't want to remember why he loved her and if they don't delve into conversation there is a chance he won't.**

**Starfire: As I said above, Erik is hurt. Would you want to talk to her? Make small talk or even see her? And thank you ever so much for your time to review, stick with me… Erik may or may not soften but we have not seen the last of him or his horse!**

**Chapter 20- Homecoming. **

The warm smell of onions frying wafted over the entrance hall and into Christine's nostrils. She took in a deep breath and exhaled slowly, almost tasting the food as she removed her jacket. The clock in the hallway said nine o clock and she turned her back to it and hobbled through to the dining room where she made herself comfortable at the head of the table and rubbed her feet. The butler had not heard her come in and she was surprised to see no maids running around setting things up for dinner. They were eating late this evening anyway and so she was sure that she had not missed it.

It was a few minutes of relaxing, leaning back in the chair, before she heard the commotion from outside the front door. There were men speaking, one was the house watchman and the other the butler and she wondered what they were doing outside. She stood gingerly and hopped to the window to take a peek as the door burst open and in strode Raoul.

A furious looking Raoul.

Christine swallowed hard.

'Where have you been?' he demanded and she sat on the window seat, shrinking away from his looming figure. 'Christine?'

'I went for… I went for a stroll,' she said, looking up at him. He sighed in exasperation.

'I was worried sick! You can't just take off like that, what… what on earth were you thinking going out alone without telling anyone where you were going _to_?' he said, raising his voice.

'I needed some air.' She said innocently.

'Air?' he asked, staring at her. 'You needed air?'

She nodded slowly and he shook his head violently and began pacing around the room, from wall to wall, rubbing the back of his neck. He glanced over at her and then down at her ankle. He stopped in his tracks and stood facing her.

'What happened?' he asked, his voice becoming softer. She fought back a sob.

'I was walking quickly to get home and I tripped,' she said quietly, staring at her hands. Raoul walked over to her and knelt at her feet, taking her hands in his and rubbing the backs softly.

'Who bandaged it for you?' he asked and lifted her hands to his mouth, kissing them both softly.

'A passer by,' she said.

'We must reward him!' Raoul said, jumping to his feet.

'No,' said Christine, reaching up for her husbands hands. 'He wanted nothing, he simply brought me here and left.'

'Good man, if you should ever see him while we are out you must point him out to me, Christine.' He said, genuinely appreciative of this _gentleman's_ aid.

'I will,' she lied.

'Christine, listen,' Raoul said, taking a seat next to her and glancing at her sideways. 'You can't go out alone like that' he nodded, as if prompting her to agree with him. When she did nothing he continued. 'It's a dangerous world now a days, you never know what you'll find and well… you're with me now and I don't like you being alone.'

'Raoul, I don't want to be watched over, I don't _need_ to be,' she said and thought about Philippe. Yes, it was in her own home that she was most at risk now. But was it really her home? She tried to feel comfortable in its beautiful surroundings, attempted to make herself at home, as part of the furniture but it never really felt that way. She felt out of place.

'Darling,' he said softly, keeping the irritation out of his voice. 'It isn't a matter of being watched over, I just want you to be safe.'

She looked at him and he kissed her cheek softly before standing and walking toward the kitchen. She stared after him and waited for him to return and when he did he was holding a bowl of freshly made onion soup, which he placed on the table. Christine stood and limped towards him and he helped her into her seat, ever the gentleman, before sitting down opposite her.

'I sent the maids to their quarters for the evening,' he said and took a bread roll from the centre of the table, breaking it in two and then popping a smaller chunk into his mouth. He chewed it carefully.

'Why?' she asked, taking a small sip of the soup from her spoon.

'I'm expecting Philippe over and thought it would be nice for just us to be around,' he said, smiling, but Christine froze, her hands gripping the edge of the table making her knuckles a ghastly white.

'Oh,' she said and stared at her soup.

'Don't worry,' Raoul said gently. 'He is coming round to you, I promise.'

'I feel ill,' she said abruptly and Raoul glanced over at her.

'Are you okay?' he asked, all scepticism disappearing as he looked with concern at the paleness of her usually rosy cheeks.

'Yes, it must be all the excitement of today,' she said, pushing her soup away and standing from the table. 'Would you get a message to see if Meg is free to tend to me? I would really appreciate a friend's care while you're with Philippe this evening.'

'I won't hear of it,' he said quickly. 'I'll cancel and stay with you.'

'No, no,' she said, not wanting to aggravate her situation with her brother in law. 'Really, I'll be fine. Please… just call Meg.'

Raoul sighed but called the butler through to the dining area and whispered into his ear, with a nod he left and Raoul stood to help Christine to the top of the stairs. When they reached her room he carefully helped her to undress and climb into her night clothes before tucking her into bed, pushing the blanket in around her body and kissing her forehead lightly.

'Are you sure that you'll be alright?' he asked, looking down at her white face.

'Yes,' she replied, emphasising it with a nod. 'I just need some rest.'

'I have sent for Meg and I'm sure if she isn't busy she will be right here.' He said, and with a final kiss on her cheek, he left her in peace.

Now it was for Christine to decide how much to tell her faithful friend.


	21. Tonight I Want To Cry

**A/N: Excuse Sp's, I wanted to get this up today. **

**Amber: Thank you for your comments, as always. I'm doing my best with Christine. I will be trying to make this longer than Coincidences so with any luck there will be time for me to characterise her the way I think.**

**AHomelesspirate: She is in rather a big dilemma isn't she? But that's sort of the point ;) Thank you very, very much for your review!**

**Modesty: LOL, Corny tart… but he is. Isn't he?**

**Starfire: It will all come to a head I expect, possibly a situation in which she is left no choice. **

'_I've never been the kind, to ever let my feelings show,_

_I thought that being strong, meant never losing my self control,_

_I'm just drunk enough, To let go of my pain,_

_To hell with my pride, Let it fall like rain,_

_From my eyes' –Keith Urban, Tonight I wanna cry. (Serious inspiration for this chapter)_

**Chapter 21- Tonight I Want To Cry**.

Christine had told Meg everything. Every word, every sound and every movement. She had told her every thought she had had about the whole thing and she had told her that the Phantom was not dead.

Meg had stared, at first, unsure what sort of response to give. Almost considering whether or not to believe her.

But she did.

Then she had wrapped her arms warmly around Christine's bruised body and held her tight, feeling her sobs against her own chest and all the time trying to think of a solution to her friends problems. She couldn't solve them though, how could she? She tried, at first, to talk Christine into telling Raoul about the attack but Christine had refused. Meg couldn't blame her in the slightest, no.

She doubted if Raoul would even believe her over his brother anyway.

Christine's ankle was swollen under the bandage but wrapped tightly and Christine had told Meg that she felt very little pain, it wasn't broken, it was simply twisted. 'Erik', the Phantom, had fixed it for her and a part of Meg's heart thanked him dearly for that.

She had left after Philippe, she hadn't been tired anyway and she had thought about it all the way home. Sometimes you just have to cut your losses. But Meg had absolutely no doubt that Christine loved Raoul dearly but she certainly noted the way that she spoke about the Phantom. She spoke with such fondness, even now, and such a feeling of rejection at the fact that he had simply left with barely a word spoken between them.

* * *

Christine sat in the window seat in her bedroom, gazing out over the now moonlit garden, its beauty was even more notable at night. The light the sun gave was nothing compared to the ambiance of the moon. Raoul was still downstairs finishing some papers and she had put the candles out in the room and sat at the window watching the night animals making the most of the freedom of her garden.

She had been sitting there for a long time before she noticed that her night gown was wet. She patted it and rubbed it in an attempt to dry it but it still remained wet. It was a while before she realised that it was wet with her own tears. She hadn't even realised she was crying.

Erik's face spun whirlwinds in her mind and she felt the butterflies attack her stomach as she thought of his anguish as he looked at her.

Another tear feel in slow motion from her cheek and joined the rest in her lap. She sighed and lifted her hand, with the little energy now remaining in her heart, to wipe the tears from under her eyes.

She heard her husband walking up the staircase, his footsteps were unmistakable and she crawled into the bed and turned on her side to face the window. After one last look at the glorious moon she closed her eyes and feigned sleep. But even through her closed eyes, a tear escaped and dampened the pillow.

* * *

He slammed his fist down so hard on the oak table that his cup jumped into the air and off the edge of the table, breaking into pieces as it landed at his feet. He moaned low, in the back of his throat, and lay his head on the table feeling it's warmth evaporate his tears as they bounced down. He ran his hand over the back of his head, his fingers scraping through his hair, pushing it back so that it tugged his forehead. He grabbed it at the back and pulled it hard, feeling the pain ripple through him he lifted his head and pushed his chair from the table. It felt with a thud to the floor behind him and he stalked around to the cabinet.

'Erik,' Antoinette whispered softly, still watching him pace. Her eyes filled with concern, pupils widening. He shot her a hard look and threw himself back to the seat in the centre of the room.

She wandered over be began to lift the pieces of the broken cup from the floor, placing each segment carefully onto the table. He had picked her up on the horse on his way back from somewhere, without an explanation he had carried her back to his home. After he had told her the situation she had been dumbfounded at both Philippe and at Erik.

More that Erik had not killed Philippe.

'What?' he finally snarled, looking at her from under his eyes lids. It had been a while since she had seen him cry this way. Not since she left. And it wasn't as if Erik cried a great deal or revealed much emotion. He was such a strong man.

'Please Erik,' she said softly, calmly. 'You did the right thing, she's okay. Please don't be so upset, Erik.' Almost pleading.

'Give me space, Antoinette,' he growled, digging his fingers into his thighs.

'You brought me here,' she said. He said nothing. 'I'll leave.'

'At this time of night? Alone?' he said, glancing up at her, his eyes still glistening water blue from tears. 'No,'

'Then what will you have me do?' she asked, trying not to sound exasperated.

'You can stay but please…' he said, almost gently. 'For tonight, let me grieve for what I've lost. Let me cry… don't speak to me, don't try to hold me or make me feel better. Don't try to stop me.' He looked at her and she met his eyes with hers. 'Let me cry, tonight. My anger only lasts so long with her, I did well enough today but tonight… Just be here… so that I know you're here … be here and let me cry.'


	22. A Battle of a War

**A/N: SOOOOOOO sorry for the slow updates! I have a new job! Individual replies next time!**

**Chapter 22- A battle of a War**

How long had it been? Days, weeks? It could have been months for all she knew. She had spent however long it had been since the attack avoiding Philippe but somehow he was always around, playing the devoted brother, concerned now for her withdrawal from public life. Apparently, or so she had been told, half of a De Chagney's life was spent socialising with fickle sycophants, she realised that she found them repulsive. He acted like nothing had happened and, although she tried, she simply couldn't be so nonchalant about the event. Her husband's brother had attempted to rape her and now he was expecting her to schmooze like it hadn't even occurred.

She sat propped up against a pillow her head resting back onto the frame of the bed, staring up at the ceiling. Its swirling patterns had captured her attention and she lifted her finger into the air and tried to trace their routes around the ceiling. No use, of course, but this was far more entertaining than spending her time downstairs at the Christmas party with all of those mindless leeches.

Christmas. Perhaps it had been months. She let her hand fall and rub her eyes as she heard a click in the door. It opened a crack and Raoul peered around the side, smiling gently.

'How are you feeling?' he asked, genuinely concerned. She managed to force him a smile back but it evaporated quickly and she became stony once again. His smile faded too, as he stepped inside the room, shutting the door slowly behind him. He wandered over and sat at the edge of the bed with his back to her.

'I'm fine,' she whispered and rolled over, so that now they were back to back. She slid her hand under the pillow and used her other arm to hug her own body.

'Then why not come down to us, Christine?' he asked, without turning to her. Still he heard her grown.

'I'm not that fine,' she replied, a note of irritation creeping into her tone.

'Everyone would love to see you,' he said and when she didn't reply. 'They haven't seen you for… I don't know, how long is it? Weeks?'

'I don't want to,' she said.

'Why not?' He asked, becoming exasperated.

'Because I don't.'

'You're acting like a child,' Raoul said, dropping his head into his hands. Christine sat up and stared at him.

'It's down to name calling now?' she asked, looking at his back.

'I wasn't name calling,' he said. 'What is wrong with you?'

'Nothing,' she said and he turned around, his eyes red.

'Christine, please,' he said, his voice cracking into fragments as it dripped from his lips. 'Tell me.'

'I said nothing, didn't I?' she snapped. He stood and glared at her.

'Yes,' he said, trying to control his temper. 'But you lied.'

'I didn't.'

'Yes you did, you are, you're lying to me. Just tell me what's wrong, I can help. I know that I can.' He said, she didn't reply, she just stared up at him. 'How can anything be so bad that you have gone inside yourself?'

'Stop it, Raoul,' she said. 'I don't want to talk.'

'You _never_ want to talk,'

'That isn't true,' she said softly.

'Should I rephrase that?' he asked, his tone angered. 'You never want to talk to _me_.'

'That isn't true either,'

'Oh please!' he said, slumping back to the bed. 'What's going on with you?'

'Nothing,' she repeated and he balled his fists by his sides.

'Stop lying to me!' he said, raising his voice.

'I'm…'

'You are!' he cried. 'You are lying, I know that you're lying. You think… you think I can't see it? There's something wrong, you're… always so melancholy and withdrawn, what is it Christine? What's going on?'

'Let it go, Raoul, please,' tears angered her eyes.

'No,' he said, 'I won't let it go, I won't. I'm your husband, Christine.'

'I know that…'

'Then confide in me!'

'I…' she began but stopped as a tear dropped to her lip. He glanced at her, before staring out of the window, almost removed, pretending her tears weren't real.

'You?' he asked, without looking back at her.

'Nothing,' she whispered and he let out a long sigh.

'Don't say that again, tell me.' He said, firmly.

She didn't answer instead she walked to the window seat and leant with her back to the wall, staring into the black night watching the snow fall silently to the expectant earth. She felt Raoul's eyes on her and she choked back a sob, memories pouring into her mind. The emptiness of the night made her remember so much.

'Tell… me…' he said slowly, trying to calm himself.

'I can't,' she said softly.

'Why?' he said. 'We're an open family, my family are always talking. The de Chagney's, we're known for our openness, talk to me.'

'You sound like your brother,' she sneered and anger seared through Raoul.

'Is that the problem?' he said. 'Philippe? Good grief, Christine, he is making such an effort.'

'An effort?' she snorted, turning to stare in bewilderment. 'Your brother is _not_ making an effort.'

'He is, Christine, you are simply too stubborn to see it.' He turned to leave.

'Your precious brother and your stupid family.' She cried. 'Your wonderful brother tried to rape me!' she yelled.


	23. Without You

**A/N: Thank you for the reviews for the last two chapters. I'm sorry the updates have been few and far between, I am trying now to get them done much quicker. **

**Phantomandvampirelover: Thank you for the review, I'm glad you're enjoying this and thanks for the well wishes!**

**Ahomelesspirate: Yeah, I thought direct was the way to go. I wasn't sure it was one of those things she would sit down and say 'Now the thing is…' And thank you in particular for the comments about Antoinette, I'm doing my best to make her believable. **

**Amber: I try to lengthen my chapters but it never seems to work… I'm still working on it though, thank you for the review as always!**

**Angelofmusic: I think Erik is a very emotional character but is only just learning how to control those emotions. Mostly he has anger but everything is in their, particularly love. **

**Modesty: Have you updated? Only FF hates me and says you haven't, if not you better hurry up! Thank you for your review!**

**Cupid: Thank you for the review.**

**Please excuse SP's**

'_Could it be and harder,_

_To say goodbye,_

_Without you,_

_Could it be any harder,_

_To watch you go,_

_To face what's true,' – The Calling._

**Chapter 23- Without You.**

The room was suddenly icy silent as Raoul's eyes darkened into a deep brown. The beige walls seemed to grey and close in around them, suffocating the atmosphere like they had been wrapped in cloth. They were stifled by each others presence, the quiet deafening them both as rage crept up through Raoul's body into his mouth. Slowly, it began to crawl out.

'How dare you?' he said, almost calmly, his voice even and direct but quiet. Christine looked at him, unsure what to do, regretting what she had said.

'I…'

'How could you sink so low?' he asked, stepping forward so that he was over her, glaring down at her as she cowered into the window seat. Still, he seemed calm, his voice was steady but she knew he was angry. She saw it in his blackening eyes. 'Why?'

'It's true,' she croaked, staring at her hands. He shook his head.

'No,' he said quickly. 'It isn't. You're lying. How dare you.' He repeated and ran his hand through his thick hair.

'I couldn't lie about this,' she said softly, tears rolling down her cheeks. 'I wouldn't.'

He glanced at her and stepped away, began pacing from side to side, around the room, wall to wall. Shaking his head as he walked, watching his feet carry him around but his mind not telling them to. Christine watched him, wanting to stop him, to explain, to make him realise that she wasn't lying but the more he paced the more she saw it. He didn't believe her.

'He is my brother,' Raoul whispered, half to himself and half to his wife. 'How could you tarnish his name like this?'

'I'm telling you what happened!' she said, beginning to lose her calm with him.

'When?' he replied quickly, spinning around to face her. 'When did this happen then? Hm?'

'When I hurt my ankle,' she said quietly. 'He pushed me to the ground and I…'

'Enough!' he yelled, raising his hand in front of him. 'No more, no more lies and no more of this.' He stared at her. 'Even if he had done this, this… vile thing… then you STILL lied to me… about your ankle.' He shook his head, fighting away tears. 'Still lies, our whole relationship based on falseness… right from the start, the very beginning. It was… wasn't it?'

'No,' she said, looking up at him, her soft brown eyes pleading.

'Yes,' he said, rubbing his eyes with his fingertips.

'Raoul,' she begged. 'I didn't tell you because I didn't think you would believe me, please…'

'Well, I don't, you're right,' he said, sharply, his tone cutting her like a knife through bread. 'Philippe would never do that, I've know him all of my life and he loves me more than that.'

'But…' she said and stopped herself, she realised that it was no use. That she had been right all along, that the bond between brothers was stronger than any emotion between the two of them.

Her eyes stung as she stood from the seat and wandered, dizzy, over to her wardrobe. As she opened it she was greeted by all of the garments he had given her, the rich fabrics, the silk and the velvet. Lace and gold embroidery gazed back at her and she ran her hands along it all as Raoul watched her. Slowly she reached up and pulled out a bag from the top shelf, letting it drop to the floor, open. Then she pushed aside the silks, finding some of her old clothes. She looked at them, simple and cheap but they were nice and they were who she really was. One by one she placed them in the bag and then tied it closed before turning to face her husbands whose tear stained face, was still looking at her.

'Are you leaving?' he asked the obvious question which was greeted by a slow, silent nod. He said nothing but stepped towards her, his anger still clouded him but he managed to lift her bag to his shoulder. 'Okay.'

He walked with her down the servant's staircase with her, following her through the corridors and then out the back exit of the house. When she turned to face him he lowered her bag to the ground and reached over to touch her but she moved away. Raoul let his arm drop to his side.

'Where will you go?' he asked quietly and she looked at him.

'Megs,' she replied honestly. 'But from there I don't know.'

'Perhaps,' Raoul began. 'You will feel better soon.'

Christine looked in his eyes, their gentle hazel returning slowly. She glanced at his lips, so smooth and warm. She stepped forward and kissed them gently before stepping back. He watched as she walked down the steps and towards the carriage at the back of the yard.

'Monsieur?' the driver said as he ran from the servant quarters.

'Its okay, Henry,' Raoul said walking towards the house. 'Take my wife where she needs to go'

Henry nodded and pulled his jacket over his shoulders as he jogged towards Christine, who greeted him with a sorrowful smile. She wondered if Henry understood. She thought that he might. Despite his simple way he seemed to understand love, she had seen the way he was with his wife and somehow it comforted her that he was the driver to take her on her way.

As the hooves clicked along she finally mustered the energy to tell Henry where she was going, every once in a while he would glance back through the gap behind him to see if she was okay and it seemed to soothe her and her eyelids drooped into a sleepy lull. Her mind flicked dreams into her subconscious but it wasn't Raoul who haunted her thoughts as nightmares made her body jump.

No Raoul didn't haunt her.

Only Ghosts haunt people.


	24. Journey

**Chapter 24- Journey **

Antoinette Giry heard the carriage coming from quite a distance and she knew what it was. Instinct told her that it had been brewing for a while, she had visited with Meg several times and Christine had been barely audible when she spoke, almost demure but not in an endearing sort of way. She had also lost weight, a notable amount of weight and Antoinette had noticed the concern Raoul had shown, although it had little effect on Christine's mood.

It was understandable, of course, and Antoinette respected Christine for at least making a show of the devoted wife, devoted family member but she knew it could not, and would not, last. Tonight had been the night, though. Antoinette had been invited to the event but past on the occasion to spend it with Meg and her Henry. It made her smile that the De Chagney driver was also a Henry. They were both so very opposite in features and manner but so close in the way they responded to women. Respectful.

When he had knocked at the door she had opened it with caution and then smiled at him. He had returned her smile, removed his cap and explained that Vicomtess de Chagney wished to spend the night with Meg. When asked where she was he informed her quietly and politely that she was sleeping in the back of the carriage and asked should he wake her. Antoinette smiled and pondered for a moment before asking the coach driver to wait for a second on the door step.

She wandered back into the house and after a few minutes she came back out holding a piece of paper. She handed it to Henry with strict instructions that, for a sum of money, he was not to tell anyone where he had been, he was to destroy the paper once he had made his way back and that he was never to tell the Vicomtess how he had gotten her there. Henry had nodded, taking the money from her gingerly and stepping back up to his carriage. With a tilt of his cap he was away leaving Antoinette to wonder if she had done the right thing.


	25. Romeo and Juliet

**A/N: Property of William Shakespeare, Romeo and Juliet (1)Prologue**

**(2)Act 2 Scene 2.**

**I don't want to insult anyone but if you've never read Shakespeare and can't make head nor tail of the quote please e-mail me and I'll explain it. **

**Modesty: Thank you for the reviews, I'm looking forward to reading you next chapter so give your Beta a kick!**

**Angelofmusic: Thank you for the long review, I'm updating much quicker now so hopefully everything you've been thinking will be answered! All the issues you mentioned will be addressed, stand by lol**

_(1)'Two households, both alike in dignity,_

_In fair Verona, where we lay our scene,_

_From ancient grudge break to new mutiny,_

_Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean._

_From forth the fatal loins of these two foes_

_A pair of star-cross'd lovers take their life;'_

**Chapter 25- Romeo and Juliet **

'Thank you,' was all the driver said as he took the coin from his hand and slipped it into his pocket. He watched as the carriage rocked into the distance and slowly the sound of hooves on dirt subsided.

It was a moment before he willed his feet to move, he stepped into the house, knocking the door shut with his heel and then glancing down at Christine still sleeping in his arms. Her hair was loose and hanging free, a stray curl lay delicately on her rosy cheek, cold from the air outside. Her body seemed frail now, thinner than he remembered, lighter than he wanted. He noticed her face was more gaunt, her cheek bones seemed higher but not in the way he liked, in the way that made her look ill.

He resisted the urge to move the curl, to warm her face with his hands, which had grown a soft pink from sitting by the fire. Her chest rose and fell slowly, her eyes moved under their lids, she was dreaming. Erik wondered for a second what she was dreaming about as incoherent words began to fall quietly from her tongue. She mumbled softly and then all was silent again.

He wandered through to the bedroom and lay her gently onto the sheet before pulling the soft blanket up over her body. He knelt at the side of the bed and removed her shoes, then re-covered them quietly before silently leaving the room and letting her sleep.

In the living area the fire was gradually dying out and he stumbled over to the chair, tired and lay down. He felt his eyes close and he began to drift to sleep but something woke him. For a second he was confused and then he realised it was Christine. He leapt up and ran to the bedroom and as he got to the door he could hear what she was saying.

'Please…' she mumbled, quietening. He edged the door open gently and his name stopped him. 'Erik… please…'

He flung it open and ran to the side of the bed, she was sleeping fitfully, the sheets were wrapped tightly around her body and sweat was running down her face. Her feet moved, her hands twitched, her lips mouthed words her voice couldn't speak. He lowered his ear to her lips to hear her, he couldn't, not properly. All he caught was 'Erik.' And then nothing and then she was silent. She had stopped. Whatever had her in such a state had past as quickly as it arrived and he sat there numb and confused.

What was she dreaming and why was he there?

He glanced one more time at her body, trapped in the sheets and when he was satisfied that she was okay he stood and left, trying to decide what to do about his house guest.

* * *

Her eyes flickered open slowly, the light in the room was bright and she moved her hand up to shield herself from the sun. 

'But soft, what light through yonder window breaks, it is the east and Juliet is the sun, arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon, who is already sick and pale with grief, that thou, her maid art far more fair than she,(2)'

The sound of his voice woke her immediately and she suddenly noticed the surroundings. She recognised nothing and realised that she was not where she planned to be, she lifted her head but it dropped back to the bed fatigued, her stomach turned, her head pounded and as much as she wanted to see him she could barely open her eyes. She was too tired to be frigthened, too weak to be conmfused.

Erik walked over, laying a damp cloth softly over Christine's forehead, her cheeks were red and burning. She had caught a chill and it was obvious she hadn't eaten for a long time, the weakness plus the chill could kill her, he knew that and through his anger he gritted his teeth and tended to her.

'Erik…' she whispered, her voice so low he leant forward to hear it. 'How long have I been here?'

'Three days…' he said, almost as quietly and Christine groaned.

'Have I been asleep the whole time?' she asked, eyes still closed.

'Mostly, yes,' he said. 'You've had a fever but it seems to be breaking now.'

'Has a doctor seen me?' she asked and Erik laughed as he stood up, before dabbing the cloth over her cheeks, cooling her face.

'No,' he said. 'Only me.'

Christine's mind blurred and she forced her eyes to slit open slightly, she looked at his face through her hazed vision and noticed his strong jaw and glowing eyes. He seemed bigger than she remembered, wider even, his face had more to it and his eyes were brighter. Slowly her eyes became heavy again and she closed them to stop the feeling of nausea washing over her.

'Then you are the only medicine I need,' she mumbled and drifted quietly back to sleep.


	26. Heart Ache

**A/N: Sorry it was a slow update, forgive me.**

**Ahomelesspirate: I'm doing my best in this story and I like to have a good line to end my chapters on, I think it's important to either find something that wraps up the tone of the chapter or leads nicely into the next. Thank you for your great reviews. And yes, it is moving along! Or at least its going to start to... I hope. I'm planning to have another chapter up sometime today.**

**Amber: As always thank you and no worries, I realise you're busy.**

**Modesty: Your beta is your mum? lol aren't mums great! Thank you for the review, as always!**

**Chapter 26- Heart Ache **

Slowly she pushed herself up into a seated position and glanced at the clock across the room. It read that it was a little after ten o clock and she assumed that it was morning, as the light was pouring in through the window and she was pretty sure she hadn't slept until summer. Her eyes took a while to adjust, they felt sticky in places and dry around the edges. She glanced over to the night stand where subconsciously she knew there would be a damp cloth. She reached across and picked it up, wetting her hands and arms first and then moving the material gently over her face. Finally, she dabbed her eyes carefully before placing the cloth back onto the table.

She looked at the door ahead of her which was half open and she could see movement in the living room. She wondered why the bedroom wasn't upstairs, she vaguely remembered that this was a house and not a bungalow. Her head was hurting as she shuffled herself to the edge of the bed and dangled her feet off it. The sheets were a mess, they were damp with sweat and the floor was covered in water. She tried to remember what she had dreamed about.

Standing slowly she straightened her body and stretched her arms above her head. If she had remembered how she had been feeling lately she would probably be sure that she felt a lot better. She walked to the window and peered out, saw nothing but fields of green and trees with no leaves and wandered back into the room. It was sparse, she thought, and let her mind drift back to the de Chagny home covered with its beautiful papers, its expensive paintings by more than famous artists, its lavish furniture wall to wall.

She was sure that she preferred this room.

Through the door she could faintly hear voices and as she edged closer she recognised them both. Madame Giry and Erik. She crept into the corridor between the bedroom and the living area and stood with her back to the wall, listening carefully.

'Well, I thought it best she was here,' the familiar sound of Madame's confident voice filled the room.

'Perhaps,' Erik said quietly and paced past the door. Christine held her breath.

'There's no perhaps, no one could have tended to her as you have. How is she?' Giry asked and she heard Erik sigh.

'She seems better although she hasn't spent much time awake.' He answered and Christine heard the sound of pouring water and then Erik's footsteps across the room. She saw his shadow in front of her.

'Thank you,' she heard Madame Giry say. 'She'll be well soon, I'm sure. It's been nearly a week now'

The words made her head whirl. She had been here, barely conscious for nearly a week. Christine glanced down at her body, patted her stomach, felt how thin she was but realised she was clean. Had he bathed and changed her?

'A week too long, Antoinette, I don't want her here,' he said firmly. Christine raised her hand to her mouth to stop the cry she felt building.

'I know that,' said the Madame. 'I know she hurt you but you must realise why this is happening.'

There was a moments silence before she continued.

'At last she's safe here, Erik,' Madame Giry said, her tone softening, almost affectionate. 'She needs to be somewhere they can't find her, they've been looking you know, keep bothering Meg with all their nonsense.'

'How does your daughter handle it?' he asked, sounding so removed.

'Sadly, if I'm honest,' she paused. 'She misses Christine, and tells them so.'

Christine almost heard the smile in Erik's tone when he next spoke, it unnerved her slightly.

'I'd invite her to visit,' he said, the edge in his voice not at all hidden 'But she never has been my biggest supporter.'

'She doesn't know you,' said Madame Giry, defensive and Christine heard Erik laugh. Christine mused that he always did have the oddest sense of humour. 'So, what will you do about Christine?'

'Must you use her name?' he asked and Christine closed her eyes. 'I'll keep her here until she is well enough to leave,' he continued, so matter-of-factly, so coldly.

'Where do you think she will go then, Erik?' she said.

'That's up to her,' he said, colder. Christine clamped her hand tighter to her own mouth, a tear touched her finger.

'Erik…'

'Don't, Antoinette, please,' he said firmly. 'Once she is well she leaves, that's it.'

Christine couldn't hear anymore, her stomach turned over and she felt suddenly faint, nausea touched every inch of her and as she stumbled back towards the bedroom her head hazed and she remembered seeing the floor briefly before she hit it.

* * *

'Hand me the cloth,' Erik's voice. She felt it, cold… so very cold, freezing, biting cold. Her head hurt. Something on her arm.

'Can you hear me?' Madame Giry now. Was she talking to her? I can hear you, she thought.

I can hear you.

She tried to mouth the words but her lips would not open. Her breathing was shallow, her brain pumped hard in her head, she felt her own pulse racing through her veins.

Erik's hand on her arm. Her hair. Brushing her hair back.

Thank you.

Still nothing came out, she heard movement, her senses were keen but her body was not, her mind swam in confusion. Still, no sound from her mouth.

Mumbling, why were they mumbling… talk to me, she thought. Please, I can hear you. She tried to move her hand but it wouldn't obey her mind. It just lay there, on the bed.

The bed.

How did she get on the bed? Wasn't she in the hallway? Click. A door closing. One set of footsteps now. Christine swallowed and tried to open her mouth again.

'Erik,'

'Christine,' he said, his voice low and calm. So smooth. His voice was to her ears what silk was to her skin. 'Shh, it's okay.'

* * *

'Erik…' she murmured. He placed his hand softly on her forehead, moving her hair carefully from her face. It was sticky with sweat again and the feeling it made his heart thump in his chest.

She had heard their conversation.

'It's okay,' he repeated, still calm. His hand brushed her cheek gently and he tucked the fresh blanket up to her chin, she sighed but didn't open her eyes. 'Are you awake?'

'Mmm,'

'Okay,' he said, once again dabbing her forehead with the cloth. 'Sleep now.'

'No,' she said, quietly. Erik dipped his finger into the cup of cold water on the night stand, he then leaned forward and brushed a droplet onto her lips. She licked it away slowly. 'More,'

He nodded as if she were looking at him and again placed a small amount of water on her lips. He knew she would be thirsty by now and he dealt with it as carefully as he always did. Or at least he thought he always did.

Erik had not expected her to be well enough to get out of bed or strong enough to walk by herself, he had wrongly anticipated that she would be bed ridden for much longer than a week. He had no intention of hurting her, making her more ill than she was. He had worked so tirelessly to get her well again.

He plucked the cup from the side and poured some more water onto the cloth, which he ran softly back over Christine's pale face. He was worried about her, this event may have caused her to lapse again and it would be a matter of waiting to see if she felt better. The clock was staring at him and he realised that it was nearly midnight and he hadn't even eaten. His eyes moved to the door and he patted his stomach before glancing back at the clock.

Food would have to wait, he thought, because for now Christine needed him.


	27. Silent Nights

**Chapter 27- Silent Nights**

As her eyes flickered open he couldn't help but smile. Their chocolate brown soaked up the room, the soft glow from the sun rising outside made them shimmer like gold. He forced his smile back down and stood up. It was the first time she had opened her eyes and looked like she knew what was happening.

When he reached the door he turned around and threw the cloth to her, which she caught, again he suppressed a smile. She was getting better. He had no doubt that she would still be weak, the fever had been hard and last for nearly two weeks but he knew from her reactions that she was on the road to recovery.

'How are you feeling?' he asked, keeping his tone perfectly level. Emitting no emotion. She glanced up at him and forced a soft smile, before tugging the blanket down to her waist.

'I feel…' she began and then stopped to think. How did she feel? 'I feel a little better.'

He nodded and walked away, into the living area where he fell back to the chair and stared at the fireplace. Now what? He thought to himself, feeling his chest tighten. He glanced at the door and his mind raced, it was nearly ten minutes before Christine stepped out and sheepishly smiled at him, pulling her gown around her shoulders and body tight.

He didn't smile back. Instead he heaved himself to his feet, his strong arms pushing him up and sauntered into the kitchen area.

Christine's eyes followed him over the room, she watched how light he was on his feet, she remembered how he could walk in and she wouldn't know he was there until he spoke. He made her jump, that made him smile and in turn it used to make her giggle. She watched him as his strong hands surrounding a jug and poured water into a cup. Her eyes drank his face in as he glanced up to look at her, the mask on the left, so white, so brilliantly white and his eyes that radiant blue.

That beautiful, dazzling blue that made her dreams so vividly real and her nightmares equally so. Deep, dark and full of the emotions she had witnessed in him over the last few months. They exuded a sadness without crying, bellowed an anger with no shouting and occasionally, ever so occasionally, they smiled a happy with out any laughter.

She settled her eyes on his hands again, they seemed safer. They weren't. They held the cup firm but without squeezing it, his long, musician fingers wrapped around it, caressed it… she blinked and looked away, moving over to the window to glance out the front of the house.

More fields.

More trees.

Her heart sank.

'Here,' She jumped, and placed her hand on her heart. He was standing right behind her. He didn't smile. She took the cup from him and sipped the water slowly. 'You should sit.'

Not you should sit down or you might feel better if you sit down. No, you should _sit. _She gulped the water as she made her way to the chair nearest the fire and slotted herself into the corner. He stared at her, she wasn't sure if she was uncomfortable or sad.

His eyes drifted over her carefully and she looked away. Still it didn't stop the tingling sensation which shot along her spine nor did it stop the hairs from standing up, all over her body. He was still a ghost.

Erik turned his back to her abruptly and gazed long and hard out of the window, she almost stood to see what he was looking so intently at but she knew, deep down, that he was looking out so that he wasn't looking at her. Sadness swept over her again and she forced down another swallow of cool water.

'Erik,' she said, her voice sounded foreign to her. He glanced over his shoulder and nodded. 'I'll leave tomorrow.'

His shoulders remained perfectly still, the breadth of his back blocking the light from the window, she waited for him to say something. To say anything. She waited nearly five minutes and the silence not only petrified her, it amazed her. He could go for hours, days even, without speaking.

'You won't be well enough.' He said simply, without moving.

'I should leave, though,' she said, honestly.

'No,'

'You said..'

'I know what I said,' he turned to look at her. Her eyes fixed onto him, she couldn't move a muscle. 'One, you won't be well enough and two, I could never forgive myself if you were hurt. You'll stay here until I find you somewhere suitable.'

It almost sounded like he cared but her mind couldn't help imagine the silent nights they had ahead.

'Thank you,' were the only two words she could muster as she watched him walked out of the room and up the stairs.


	28. Hunted

**A/N: It's short, sorry Modesty, it is, I'm trying but I'm used to my short chapters now. I'll try to update sooner.**

**Modesty: Thank you for the reviews and your loyal reading.**

**Ahomelesspirate: Thanks for the reviews, much appreciated as always. And yes, he does love her too much for his own sanity. Phantom of the Opera came second in a vote of the worlds finest musicals (Les Mis beat it)**

**Erikmylove: New reviewer, welcome. Thank you very much… I will update as often and as quickly as I can.**

**Onwards!**

**Chapter 28- Hunted.**

The sun was settling to its bed for the night and so was Christine. She had shuffled herself low under the blanket, her face nearly entirely covered by it. She breathed in the fresh smell it emitted, let it linger on her senses and then closed her eyes letting out a long, languid sigh. She had closed the drapes leaving a small gap in the middle so that she could see as the light disappeared and left the moon rising, the dark taking the suns place.

The moon was bright, the night was cold, the stars twinkled on the black, silk sky. She breathed slowly and deliberately, each sip of air was planned and executed. She could not even breath without thinking now. Her chest filled with glorious air, her body was clearing its evil fever and she was feeling much better for it. What she did not feel better about was staying here with Erik.

He had been so cold again, she had seen not an ounce of emotion in him. Well, until he had turned his back on her and stared out of the window. She was positive he had done that to conceal feelings he did not want her to see. What those feelings were, however, she didn't know.

The room darkened more, no longer the amber glow of the setting sun it was almost a brown. Shadows chased the light away and even the glow from the living area was beginning to die out as she realised that Erik must have fallen to sleep.

Without much though she threw herself out of bed, steadied herself against the onslaught of the dizziness and then tiptoed gingerly towards the open door. She poked her head around, glanced either way and when she was finally satisfied that he was not around she stepped into the small hallway. Again she placed her back to the wall and listened into the other room for a couple of minutes. She could faintly hear the steadiness of Erik's breathing, she was convinced that he was sleeping.

Peering around she slid into the room, he was lying on the long seat next to the fire, which was turning to a small glow and ash. He was a silent sleeper, totally silent except for a light breathing. He was soothing when he slept. She remembered that in the past, when she spent time with him and he actually managed to sleep, a lot of the time he was having nightmares, he would mumble and his hands would tense, his face contort, his eyes twitched under their lids. Tonight, as she looked at him, she realised he was sleeping soundly.

She glanced at him once and then turned to look at the stairs behind her. With one final check that Erik was sleeping she turned and tiptoed to the bottom of the stairs.

* * *

'I can't find her,' Philippe de Chagny said to his brother as he fiddled with a place mat.

'What have I done?' Raoul said, glancing up and looking through tired eyes. 'Is there anything we haven't tried?'

'I'm not sure.' Philippe said, staring at the figure of his brother, a shadow of the man he was expected to be.

'I've asked all of the people she knows… she's just … vanished.' Raoul's voice caught in his throat.

'Calm down,' said the Comte de Chagny, as he walked over to grab Raoul's shoulders firmly. He shook him lightly, making him look up. 'You let her walk out, Raoul, you should have stopped her.'

'What?' Raoul said, tears once again threatening to fall. 'How? How would I have stopped her?'

'Damn it, man!' Philippe said, shaking his head. 'She's your wife! MAKE her stay!'

'I…'

'Raoul, you were always too soft. Sometimes you need to be… well, you need to be more forceful. Who runs this house?'

'Me,' Raoul answered, his throat dry.

'Then _act_ like it,' Philippe said firmly.

Raoul stared at him, ran his hand over his eyes, brushing away the remaining tears. He stood up and glanced at his brother before ushering him through the door. Philippe's long light hair shone under the light of the candles in the late night. He saw him to the front door.

'Find her, Philippe, I want her back,' he said slowly, his voice taking on a tone of authority. Philippe nodded at him.

'I have one option left.' He said, patting Raoul's shoulder gently. 'I have a feeling this might just work.'


	29. Never land

**Chapter 29- Never land**

With one look back over her shoulder Christine began to climb the stairs, they creaked under her feet and made her heart stop. She looked back into the living room to see Erik still sleeping and she continued up the stairs slowly. As she reached the top she took a deep breath and surveyed the surroundings. It was dark and dusty, the hallway was small and there were two rooms, one on her left and one to her right. She reached out and grabbed the handle of the door to her right, tried to push. It didn't yield.

With a quiet sigh she turned and stepped towards the other door, reaching out she gave it a soft touch and with a squeak. Stepping inside she noticed that the moon lit the room perfectly. She thought that it might be Erik's favourite room in the house.

Her eyes drifted to the piano at the far side, made of mahogany, beautifully sculpted. She walked to it and knelt beside it, running her finger along the grooves of the leg. They curled and waved and kissed the floor. The piano looked like it weighed nothing.

She stood and rubbed her finger against her thumb, dust. She moved over to the seat, which was covered with a white cloth, and looked at the keys, which were left in the open. She touched the top of one gently, careful not to press it down. Again she rubbed her fingers together. More dust.

The piano had not been played for a long time.

Christine moved away from the piano and tiptoed slowly across to the other side of the room. There propped against the wall was a violin, again made with such care to detail. It was out of its case. It looked lonely.

'What are you doing here?'

Christine jumped, nearly screaming, and spun to face Erik, whose face was painted with anger. He glared at her from the door way, his shirt open and hanging off his shoulders, his hair ruffled and messy but his eyes were bright and furious. She swallowed hard, watching him seethe.

'I…' she began, gulping down her fear. 'I couldn't sleep.'

'Did you try?' he asked but didn't allow her to answer. He stepped aside so that the door was free and held his arm out in front of him. 'Get out.'

'Erik…' she said but the look in his eyes stopped her. She walked forward slowly, carefully and then moved past him, as she did he clicked the door closed behind her. 'I just wanted to see your house.'

'You've seen it,' he growled.

'I'm sorry,' she said softly.

'Don't come up here again,' his voice was hard. 'Everything you need is downstairs.'

Christine started to walk down the stairs, her heart was sinking low into her stomach, which was flipping in somersaults. He followed her down, she could feel his eyes on her back as she reached the bottom. When she got back into the living area she turned and faced him, he stopped and stared at her.

'Don't angry with me, Erik,' she said softly, letting her eyes do her pleading. He looked at her before walking past her to his jug of water. 'Please…'

'I'm not.'

'You look angry,'

'I was,' Erik said, taking a sip of water. 'Now I'm not.'

'I just…' she said. 'Well, its such a shame.'

'What is?' he asked, no emotion.

'That room up there, the instruments, you know, not being used.'

He looked at her and offered her the water, she shook her head, declining politely.

'They are used,' he said and she looked at him.

'The dust…'

'You've been here,' he said. 'Ill. I _will_ play… when you're better and I'm not disrupting your sleep'

'I'm better now,' she said, her tone full of a hope she hadn't felt in a long time. Erik looked at her.

'You're not,'

'Okay, but I'm not asleep,' she said. 'Erik…'

'Stop,' he said, anger rising in his throat. Christine blinked at his sudden change of tone.

'Stop…' she repeated and he glared at her.

'Saying my name,' he said. 'Stop.'

'Why?' she asked, fighting her tears away, fighting the lump from her throat. He was so angry.

'Because I asked you to,' he said quickly and turned his back on her.

'So what am I to call you then?' she asked, frustration over taking her sadness.

'Don't call me anything,' he said simply, his voice levelling.

'I need to call you something,'

'Christine,' he said sharply. 'Do you have any idea?' his eyes glowed, but not with anger. 'Do you know how it feels when you say my name? It's like… my name on your lips hurts my own ears, Christine.'

She stared at him, unsure how to respond. Wondering if she should respond at all. She wanted to tell him how her name sounded on his lips, that it was heaven, that she had missed it with all of her soul. She wanted him to know that her name hurt her too when he said it in such anger, in such pain. How he could cry it without shouting it.

Instead she said nothing and simply looked at his face, covered with that ghostly mask.

'Just, refrain.' He said and stalked up the stairs out of her sight.


	30. Colour of Erik

**A/N: This is a weird chapter. Sorry in advance if you don't like it. **

**Modesty: Just read your update, will probably review tomorrow! Thank you.**

**Amber: I hope you're feeling better and that it is nothing serious. Thanks for the great review.**

**Ahomelesspirate: Thank you as always for your wonderful reviews! I think Christine would watch Erik sleep… I know I would!**

**Countess Alana: Thank you for your review, I hope you stick with this and have patience, I am trying to make a slower build than my last fic. I'm not sure how it will work though…**

**Erikmylove: Did I thank you already? Thank you anyway!**

'_I'll paint a sun to warm your heart  
Swearing that we'll never part   
That's the colour of my love_

I'll paint the truth  
Show how I feel  
Try to make you completely real  
I'll use a brush so light and fine  
To draw you close and make you mine.' – Celine Dion.

**Chapter 30- Colour of Erik**

The morning was cold but bright, the sun casting long shadows across the landscape made for beautiful viewing and for a moment Christine felt almost at home. Erik had been up and down the stairs, the occasional word had past quickly between them when he was there and when he wasn't she slowly plodded through reading his books. There was not much else to do if he wouldn't let her out of the house.

Still, she didn't feel like a prisoner and deep down, through her isolation, she appreciated his efforts in regard to her safety. At least he cared enough to want her safe.

It had been a few days since the incident at the top of the stairs and somehow, though she didn't quite _know_ how, she had managed to not say his name. As she gazed out of the window and the ever brightening sun she imagined a paint brush in her hand and a canvas in front of her. She almost felt the texture of the paint as she thought about mixing it and gently flicking it to the paper. But then suddenly her mind drifted back to Erik.

How would she paint Erik?

She would simply paint Erik as colours. Not as a man or even a ghost, she would cover the canvas in an array of colours. The colours that she thought of when she saw him. She would paint a base of yellow, so bright and vibrant, so full of life and happiness. She would paint yellow because she remembered how it felt when he sang to her. She felt like yellow when he sang to her.

Then she would splash orange on the yellow, deep glowing orange like the sunset. The sun set which equalled his favourite time of day and his most wonderful mood. The one where he felt free and full of spirit, when he knew that he was the master in charge of his own destiny.

Then, she would mix a deep red. No, not a deep red. She would mix a vivid red, a scarlet red. The red that she saw engrossing him when his temper flared and his anger crushed all that was around him. She hated the red in him but she was aware of it, she saw it often, she knew it was there. The red should take a good part of the canvas, she thought.

And then she would make a blue. The blue would also be strong, like him, like his arms and his body and his soul. Blue was the strongest colour she knew and it represented the man he was, the man he could be, the man he _should_ be. But what blue also represented was the feeling in his own heart, that cold senseless feeling about love and life, the depression that overwhelmed him once. Blue was so many things in Erik.

She frowned at the canvas in her mind.

Then she would take her brush and paint over the whole thing in black.

Black.

Black was the strength, black was his heart, black was his feelings and emotions, black was his music- powerful, true. Black was his hand on the noose around Raoul's neck, black was his kiss when she felt his lips. Black was his goodness, his badness, his everything. Black for the dawn, black for the dusk, black for his face and his muscles and his smile. Black was his love for her, so dark yet so strong. Black was the look on his face as she disappointed him and black was the look he wore when she didn't. Black was his history, black as his future, black was his all. Black was his command and black was his weakness. Black was that feeling when he touched her. Black was the feeling when he didn't. Black as the room he walked in, black was the house he lived in. Black was the caress on her back when she walked through a room, black was his protection, was her protection.

As black as a ghost, as black as a man.

Black was his day and night and everything he was. Black encompassed him and black was all he needed.

Black was good on him, she thought.


	31. Raoul

**A/N: I've decided I like the last chapter. **

**Ahomelesspirate: Thanks for the review! He is a vivid man and I just thought that I could see his emotion in colour.**

**Modesty: Loved the new chapter, left review! Thanks for your review… maybe I am getting too predictable?**

**Reltistic: Thank you for the review, I try to keep the character s in character as best I can but with my own spin. This is the point of fanfiction. Review very very much appreciated!**

'_Me  
I'll take her laughter and her tears  
And make them all my souvenirs  
For where she goes I've got to be  
The meaning of my life is she' – 'She' Elvis Costello_

**Chapter 31- Raoul.**

Raoul lay awake with a small picture of Christine in his hands, crumpling with wear. He didn't think that he had put the picture down in days, maybe even weeks. His heart ached and he knew that he was dishevelled, looked half the man of his past. He barely even cared.

He had wondered why Christine was so unhappy, she had taken to her room and hardly left it for weeks. The night she left, after he had let her go, his heart screamed at him to stop her and to tell her to stay, that whatever it was, they would work through it. His mind stopped him. His mind told him that if she wanted to leave, and she obviously did, then it was best to simply let her go. There was an old saying that sprang to his mind.

If you love someone set them free and if they love you too then they will return to you. She had yet to return and in all honesty, his hope was fading rapidly. Philippe had been there for him, as a good brother should be, but he could sense his irritation now and avoided him. Raoul knew that Philippe had not given up the effort to find Christine and his appreciation was unbridled.

Still they hadn't found her. For a while Raoul had a horrible feeling that something terrible had happened to her, that she was hurt or ill or worse, dead. But after a while the feeling past and he knew, in his heart he knew, that she was well and hiding. And he couldn't blame her. He had been horrid to her. Absolutely horrid, and he loved her too much to force her to live with him when he is being an ogre. He only wished that he could see her, at least once, to tell her that he was sorry for the way he had spoken to her. He was sorry if she thought that he didn't trust her or that he didn't want to help her.

If she then turned around and left him at least he would know that she was ok and continue the arduous struggle of getting on with his life. His existence. Raoul guessed that some women simply had this effect on men, this overwhelming power to make them feel as high as the clouds or as low as dirt.

He also knew that Christine did not do it deliberately.

The fading light of the dying sun covered his face in a vain attempt to mask his pain, he shielded his aching eyes with the back of his hand and sighed. His heart bumped against his chest. What would he do without her? What if this really was a permanent thing? Christine, his childhood sweetheart, his best friend. What was there to life without her?

Then he heard Philippe's voice in his mind and he grimaced at his own self. He glanced down to his feet, his baggy trousers and un-tucked shirt. He reached up with his hand, rubbed his fingers around his jaw, felt the stubble. He eased himself up and sat at the edge of the bed, looking into the mirror. He looked a mess. His eyes were blurred with red corners, there usual shine gone and replaced with a dull puffy texture. The roughness of his jaw was evident and he was almost embarrassed to look at himself. There was no grin where there usually was, no laughter could possibly exit his lips, he couldn't sound happy when he was so sad. His hair looked dirty and was too long and he watched his reflection attempt to neaten it but then give in. What was the point?

He thought for a moment, pictured Christine's sparkling eyes, filled his head with images of her easy smile and perfect skin. He wondered what she was doing, how she was, who she was laughing or crying with. His head spun and he shook it, trying to let the pictures to spill out but then he wanted to catch them and put them back, so that he could keep them forever.

'Raoul?' He looked up and stared at the door waiting for his brother to walk in. There was a gentle knock first.

'Yes?' he said as Philippe walked in, clicking the door closed behind him.

'Look at you…' he said, closing his eyes and shaking his head. Raoul grunted and lay back on the bed. Philippe strode over and pulled his brother up to his feet, turned him around to face the mirror. He stood behind him so that Raoul's full reflection stared back at them and he pointed.

'And?' Raoul was becoming defiant. He would not be bullied, he wanted to grieve.

'I know you're upset, but really Raoul, honestly, can't you just think about it for one second,' Philippe said, as if reading his mind. 'She isn't dead, I'm sure of that and if she's not dead then I will find her and when I do, do you _really_ expect her to come back to you in this… state?'

'If she loves me then yes,' Raoul said quietly.

'Do you doubt her love for you?' Philippe asked, turning Raoul by his shoulders to face him.

'She isn't here is she?' Raoul said, staring at Philippe's strong features. Philippe had their fathers dashing looks but missed out, unlike Raoul, on their mother's soft, yet beautiful, traits.

'Then why do you mourn her?' Philippe asked, watching for Raoul's reaction.

'Because I love her,' Raoul replied, Philippe shook his head.

'Then why did you let her leave?'

'She wanted to,'

'We've been through this, have we not?' Philippe said sounding commanding, as he often did when he was getting frustrated with his brother.

'Yes,' said Raoul, blinking back tears.

'Enough,' said Philippe attempting to hide his contempt. 'Wash and change, Raoul, right now. We're going to dinner.'

Raoul stared at him but didn't move.

'Raoul,' he said. 'Now.'

And then he did.


	32. Erik

**A/N: Excuse typos and tell me what you think of this chapter. **

**Chapter 32- Erik.**

The morning was so soft and warm that Erik couldn't resist a slow stroll up the hill to the left of his home. The dew was still dampening the grass, the smell reminded him of the few good times he had as a young boy, when he had a father that cared enough to rescue him from his mother. Of course, his father had died and his mother abandoned him and the memories, over time, had faded into obscurity. But the fresh smell of spring mornings made him remember some goodness.

It was very nearly spring; he counted early March as spring, even if it wasn't entirely correct. It wasn't his favourite time of year, he was a distinct fan of winter. He liked winter's clear skies, how quickly the weather could change, how cold the air was and how the grass crackled under his feet when he trod on it. He revelled in the fact that the night time ended late and began early. Yes, winter was his favourite season.

He took a cautious glance back over his shoulder, not ignoring the feeling in his stomach that he shouldn't leave Christine alone just yet, it had barely been four weeks since she had been moving around freely or had even felt well enough to wrap herself in a shawl and sit on the outer decking of the house. As he looked back he noticed that her drapes were still closed and, satisfied that she wouldn't need anything for a while, continued his path up to the top of the hill.

As he turned to look back down at his house he felt a sharp pain in his back which threw him to the ground with a thud. He dropped onto his knees, groaning in the pain and reached quickly for his sword, drawing it out and rolling over to face the offender.

It was a large black dog, panting like a lunatic wanting to… play with him.

For a moment Erik stared, still sitting on the ground, at the stupid animal. He considered, still, running the buffoon through but changed his mind when he heard the calls from the other side of the hill. He pushed himself to his feet and looked over to see a young woman running up, stumbling and cursing profusely for the temporary loss of control of her mutt.

The dog stood there panting and then began to bark, looking from her to him and then back to her again. Stupid thing, he thought, surprised it doesn't walk backwards and wag its head. He attempted to hide his disdain.

'Reg, you're a bad dog!' said the woman as she reached them. 'I… oh dear.'

He had obviously failed.

'I can only… I can only apologise,' she reached out her hand, apparently to shake his but he noticed that the hand was about two feet wide of where he was standing. He moved around, intrigued, and took it gently in his, shook it once and let go.

'It's fine,' he said, watching her carefully. She smiled. She had a pretty smile.

'Emily,' she said, holding the smile. He looked at her.

'Erik,' he said.

'Lovely to meet you,' she said. 'Was he bothering you?'

Bothering him? Erik thought, he looked at her more carefully and then he saw it in her eyes.

'He knocked me over,' he said and her mouth gaped in shock.

'Oh Lord… I'm so, so sorry. Are you hurt?' she said, placing her hand on the dogs head and rubbing his neck until she picked up his rope.

'No,' he said honestly. 'I'm okay, just taken by surprise.'

'He's never done that before, have you Reg?' she said, patting him gently on the head. Erik smiled.

'Reg?' he asked and Emily giggled.

'He's an old English dog, a friend gave him to me… Reg seemed fitting,' her giggle made him smile wider.

'Would you like me to walk you back to where you need to be, Emily?' he asked.

'Say that again,' she said softly and he frowned, holding his arm out for her to take.

'What?' he said, genuinely confused.

'My name, anything,' she said and paused. 'Has anyone ever told you that you have the most wonderful voice?'

'No,' he replied modestly, feeling a tingle of unfamiliar embarrassment along his skin. She felt his arm and took it gently and he slowly began to walk down the hill.

'You don't mind me walking you, do you?' he said, looking down at her.

'Of course not,' she answered. 'I don't get much company, so it's nice to have someone to walk with.'

'I don't often see many people over this side of the hill,' he said, walking slowly.

'Neither do I,' she said with a small laugh.

Erik smiled.

Of course not.

She was blind.


	33. Friends and Enemies

**A/N:**

**Amber: The aim is to make Philippea nasty piece of work! Hope you're better!**

**Modesty: Thank you for your comments! We may see Emily again ;)**

**Ahomelesspirate: Thank you for your reviews. I'm trying to give Raoul different dimensions… lol trying.**

**Thanks for your patience. **

**Chapter 33- Friends and Enemies.**

Meg Giry sat with her back to the fire facing her mother and next to Henry. Slowly, Henry had been integrated into her family and her circle of friends, he had been invited to the opera, given special seats and all in all treated like a member of her close knit little group. Christine still had never met him and that was where Meg's mind kept running back to. She wanted to know where her friend was and had a feeling that her mother knew, although she had not explicitly said as much.

'Are you okay?' Henry asked, concerned. She placed her hand softly over his and stroked it.

'I'm fine,' she said, honestly. She was fine, she was just a little bit worried. And she was allowed to be surely. No one had seen nor heard from Christine in months, she had simply vanished. Anyone would be worried about their best friend in these circumstances.

'Are you sure?' her mother asked, and she nodded slowly. Her blonde hair was scraped back showing off her now high cheek bones, no longer the youth she used to be, she had blossomed beautifully, and she had nearly as much admiration as the singers.

'Think about Christine,' she said. Her mother nodded at her and she felt Henry squeeze her hand. She looked up at him, watched the way the light from the window emphasised his smooth lips and grey eyes. 'Where is she?'

'I don't know, Meg,' said her mother, her expression creasing to a frown. Meg felt Henry's hand stroke her arm.

'I'm sure she is okay, Meg, darling, I'm sure,' he said gently, his eyes fixed on her face. 'Perhaps she's just taking some time out to get her head around things,'

'I wish I could see her, though,' said Meg, feeling a lump rise on her throat. Losing Christine was like having an arm cut off.

'Shh,' he said, his tone was understanding, calm. 'She'll come back when she's ready.'

'He's right,' said Madame Giry. 'I'm sure that when she feels she has taken enough time out she will return and things will be as they were before. Like nothing has changed'

Meg nodded but wasn't convinced, wherever her friend was her mother wouldn't tell her and she was just going to have to wait to make the announcement that she and Henry were engaged to be married until her friend came home.

She just hoped that it was soon.

* * *

Philippe watched Raoul's demeanour at the dining table. He noted that his brother was quiet and reserved, and frankly, irritating. Raoul made him almost sick inside, it made him feel ill when he saw his brother so down and forlorn and giving in to his emotions. It simply was not what De Changy's did. 

Philippe was very aware of the fact that every time conversation was averted away from Raoul his eyes darted to the door, as if he were planning his escape. No doubt he was.

Philippe also did not doubt that he would find Christine now he had enlisted the help of a new friend. The person had been recommended to him by several other acquaintances and when he had checked his spy out he decided that they were perfect for the job. He gave it less than a month before he would know where she was.

The question was, what would he do with the information once he had it? Philippe was now in no doubt that the man he had seen had been posing as the Phantom to frighten him away. He had at least managed to convince himself of this. However, he also knew that the man's calm expression would haunt him until he had found him.

Which was another thing.

Where ever Raoul's precious wife was she was there with this man, her lover, or who ever it was. Philippe had almost made a decision about the whole event. Both Christine and the masked man would have to go and never been found. It simply wasn't good enough to have rumours flying around about any of the family, least of all the first heir.

His eyes darted to Raoul who was forcing a smile at one of the women who was shamelessly flirting with him. Philippe stood and walked around the table, resting his hands on his brother's shoulders, he leaned down and whispered to him.

'Why not have some fun?' he said, into Raoul's ear. Raoul frowned up at him and Philippe greeted this with an amused smile. 'With her… she seems to have taken quite a shine to you.'

The repulsion on Raoul's face forced Philippe to stifle a laugh.


	34. Emily

**Chapter 34- Emily.**

Erik had walked slowly, with Emily's arm hooked delicately in his. He had not spoken much, he preferred his silence, but he had _wanted_ to. He found himself concerned by this, he hadn't felt the urge to have conversations with a woman, or anyone for that matter, except for Antoinette who he had grown to trust over many, many years. This woman, this Emily, risked getting his guard down. She made him want to talk, what to listen, want to walk and think about things aside from music.

He glanced at her blonde hair, which she had tied back, it was almost a white colour and he noted that her skin tone was fair. Her cheeks were rose pink from the breeze.

'So, what do you do, Mr Erik?' she said. This was flirtatious, he thought, and shook the feeling from his mind.

'Do?' he asked, still looking at her. He knew exactly what she meant and he smiled. Was he flirting too?

'Yes,' she said, a grin covering her face. 'Don't play dumb, you don't _sound_ dumb.'

He held back a smile.

'I make musical instruments,' he said, not a full lie. It was much easier to keep up the pretence with a little lie. She smiled wider and turned her head to him.

'Really?' she said.

'Yes,' he said, trying to make his voice cold. No use. What was the matter with him?

'Well,' she said. 'I think that we're here. Is there a white door on a house ahead?'

Erik glanced away from her and smiled as he looked at the small house, small white door, small white windows.

'Yes there is,' he said and took her hand gently from under his arm, placing it back on to the dogs rope. He had been walking slowly in front of them, leading them back, he thought that maybe Emily had counted her steps. Whatever, he thought, he was impressed.

'Then I'm home,' she said stepping away from him. Then she reached her hands up and out. 'Erik?'

'Yes,' he said, standing motionless in front of her.

'Come closer,'

He remained still, looking at her. Her smile was still there but not as wide, not quite as vibrant. His eyes drifted over her, she was dressed neatly, smart but not rich. He wondered if she had some help in the house but judging by her nature, he thought not. She seemed so independent. With one last thought that he shouldn't he stepped forward carefully.

Emily placed her hands on his shoulders, feeling the soft texture of his jacket, she ran her hands slowly up his neck, he felt the hairs on his body bristle. Her fingertips mover over his jaw and he swallowed hard. Don't flinch, Erik, she can't see. As her hand touched the mask on the right he closed his eyes as she frowned in confusion. Her hands glided over it, feeling its cold ceramic almost burning her fingers. They moved up to his hair and then finally back down to her own sides.

'Mask?' she said, questioningly. He stared at her, clenching his jaw. Calm.

'Yes,' he said. His voice finally finding a measure of its icy temperature. He watched her expecting her frown to deepen, it didn't.

'Why?' she said, quietly. He wasn't sure how to respond. He had never been in _this_ situation before. She actually sounded concerned, interested, yet not frightened or ready to run for cover. Genuine curiosity.

'My face…' he said slowly, still looking at her. 'My face is disfigured… badly disfigured.'

'But you sound so beautiful,' she said softly, reaching her hand out to find and then touch his throat. 'What difference does your face make?'

'The world of difference in a society so concerned with appearances, Emily,' he said, his tone not at all menacing. 'How old are you?'

'Are you saying I'm too young to understand?' she asked but she wasn't angry.

'Perhaps,' he said.

'Then you're wrong,' she said. He watched her. 'You're wrong… but I'm twenty seven, monsieur.' She stroked his face. 'Perhaps you need to spend time with someone who cares not how you look nor how you stand, or what colour your eyes are… you need to be around someone who cares about what is real, what actually means something, what is inside.' He stared at her in astonishment. 'See me tomorrow and I shall show you friendship, Erik.'


	35. Realisations

**A/N: Modesty, thank you for the reviews. **

**Ahomelesspirate: Thank you for the reviews… I'm hoping that I can tie this together the way I have planned…**

**Any character I have mentioned so far will be an integral part of the future story. All of them.**

'_I've made a commitment  
I'm willing to bleed for you  
I needed fulfillment  
I found what I need in you_

_Why can't you just forgive me  
I don't want to relive all the mistakes I've made along the way  
But I always find a way to keep you right here waiting  
I always find the words to say to keep you right here waiting' –_ Right Here -Staind

**Chapter 35- Realisations **

Erik wandered back to the house missing all of the beauty around him as he often did when he was thinking. Erik was a man not blind to beauty but he was one who rarely dwelled on it although he was a man with the ability to notice it in the strangest of places. He often saw it when no one else did.

His mind was spinning from his meeting with Emily only a couple of hours earlier. He had been, and still was, astounded at her trusting nature and wondered to himself if this should worry him.

It did.

But not enough that he wouldn't see her tomorrow, the intrigue for a man of Erik's intelligence was simply too much. He wanted to know why she was so alluring to him, what it was about her that made him want to speak to her, divulge information to her. He ran his hand through his hair as he stepped to the door and pushed it open slowly.

Yes, something about Emily both worried him and intrigued him. The initial concern in his mind was that she was _there_. Whenever he had walked in the area, even when he had ventured over the hill, there was no one to be seen. Her home was a couple of miles away, it seemed quite a distance for a young woman with only a dog to protect her, particularly considering she was blind.

Secondly, it was her nature which concerned him. She had spoken to him so easily, so readily taken him up on his offer to walk her back to her house.

Which was another inconsistency.

The house was surprisingly large. She had given the impression that she was poor, no money. Her look, her tone and her clothes gave that impression. Perhaps Erik had been hasty in his assumptions but he rarely made judgements for which he could not account reasons. He wandered into the living area and glanced at the burning fire, low on the logs, keeping the room just warm enough.

It was at that moment that the sound filled his ears, the soft delicate sound playing with his senses. He turned and walked towards it, out through into the corridor near to the bedroom, he followed it to the door at the back of the house, which was open just slightly. The sound was getting louder and finally, as he pushed the door open, he knew what it was.

In the garden sat Christine on a stool, covered in a heavy shawl. In her hands was an item of his clothing, soaking wet and steaming. She was cleaning his clothes.

Not only was she cleaning his clothes but she was humming.

He listened for a second as he realised that she hadn't noticed him standing there. He watched her as she concentrated, rubbing a lotion into the shirt and dipping it into the hot water. She dragged it back out, rung it through and hung it on a rail next to her. She hummed softly.

So softly.

Her gentle hands lifted another shirt, placed it in the water and moving it around, adding lotion, rubbing, back in the water. Slowly, then quickly, so focused but sounding so content.

'Christine,' he said, stepping forward. She jumped a little and then her cheeks flushed bright red, she lifted a wet hand to cover one. Was she embarrassed?

'I didn't hear you,' she said, looking up at him. He nodded.

'How long have you been out here?' he asked and she frowned.

'I don't know,'

'Too long,' he said, walking to her and holding out his hand for her to take. When she did he eased her to her feet and steadied her, starting to walk, guiding her back into the house. 'It's going cold again.'

'I hadn't noticed,' she said quietly. He looked at her out of the corner of his eye.

'Well it is,' he said. 'And you shouldn't be working yet.'

'I don't mind, I…' she said but he stopped her.

'I realise you don't mind but that's hardly the point,' He said firmly. 'You need to get well, you need to rest. I don't think you understand just how ill you were. You could have died.'

She looked up at him as he clicked the back door closed behind them. Her eyes drifted over his face, how did he look so different today? He placed his hand on the base of her back and gently nudged her along the corridor and back into the living quarters where he proceeded to throw logs onto the fire.

'Where have you been?' she asked, watching him. He could feel her eyes on his as he knelt by the fire, prodding it and made it flare again. It reminded him of Christine. The way it could be so low yet still simmering, the way it's colour could burst out and hit him. He turned to look at her.

'I was walking,' he said. She stared.

'Who was the girl?' she asked. This time _he_ stared.

'I'm not sure,' he said, honestly. He really wasn't sure.

'You walked away with her,' she said, no accusations. He wasn't sure what it was.

'I know,' he said. 'She said her name was Emily. I walked her home.' He looked at her. 'I didn't know you were up.'

'I had just gotten up as she walked over the hill and out of my sight,' she said. 'Do you mean you only just met her?'

'Yes,' he said simply. She frowned and then burst into a grin. 'What?' he asked, confused.

'Do you know what you did?' she asked.

'No,'

'You were almost sociable,' she said, her smile bright. He shook his head as he stood and walked over to the kitchen area where he poured her a large cup of water.

'No,' he said cautiously. 'Her dog ran into me and I walked her back to her home.' He said and then added, 'She's blind.'

'Really?' said Christine, feeling a tingle of something unfamiliar in her stomach.

'Why are you asking so many questions?' he snapped, staring at her as he handed her the water.

'Because I don't know you,' she said quietly, 'Not the new you anyway.'

'There is no new me,' he said simply and turned his back to her, walking towards the door.

'Yes, there is,' she said, watching him.

'I am still the same man you were around before,' he said, half to himself and half to her. 'It was the old me you didn't know.'


	36. Meg

**A/N: Please excuse typos in this chapter and the next. I wrote this at work.**

**Ahomelesspirate: _I'm working hard on Emily. Where she goes nobody knows… the next chapter has Emily stuff in it… warning it is very un EC._**

**Kaledena: _Thank you for your review. It's always nice to have new reviewers and know that you're not just reaching your regular and very faithful readers. We will learn more about Emily as things progress._**

**UnderMyangels: _Thanks for your review, again, great to have a new reviewer. Madame Giry is a love or hate character in my opinion. In all the books and in the play. I don't want her to be anything but. If you don't like her then I'm doing well and if you do then I am doing well. I'm trying to write her with as much intrigue as possible still trying to stay with her in 'character'._**

**Modesty: _Burn… lol yes, he has the best one liners. And so he should, he's the most intelligent character in it! Thanks for the review, when will you be updating?_**

**Mystery Guest: W_elcome back and may I say wow and what a review and thank you very much for taking the time!_**

_**My plots are usually a lot quicker but I have deliberately tried to slow this one down. I don't want to rush that or my character development. I was hoping to really get inside the characters in this fic. **_

_**I don't want to spoil it by saying whether this will be EC or not, I have an idea where it will go but I'm toying with the idea of two different endings (as I did with my last fic) I suppose I will see. Although I believe that whatever ending it is there are should always be EC undertones. **_

_**Also, my Raoul has more to him than you think ;)**_

**Thank you to everyone who has reviewed and please continue to leave your comments!**

**I hope you like these chapters. **

**Chapter 36- Meg**

Meg's dress flowed to the floor from her shoulders, clinging to her hips and waist as it hung from her body. The colour was a blue and the dress made of an expensive silk, so beautiful and so smooth it was like liquid dripping off her skin. She enjoyed the opera when she wasn't performing in it and today she wasn't and was therefore afforded Box five free of charge by an over eager Philippe. Philippe made acid burn in Meg's stomach, he made her feel ill but she was intelligent enough to know that to open her mouth would have devastating consequences for both she and her mother.

Lately her mother had seemed a tortured soul, often choosing her living room over the opera, she seemed distant when she taught the ballet and she was worse at home. Tonight, however, Henry had made the effort to talk her mother into attending the opera with them and she had, for once, agreed. Henry had made his mother feel as though she was an important part of their crowd that night and for that Meg was grateful. This was one of the reasons Meg loved him so.

They were now sitting comfortably in Box five which they had at first refused to take because Meg knew it always made her mother think of the events of the past. She also knew that her mother still saw the Box as something of a sacred part of the theatre. She never understood her mother's relationship with the opera ghost and she never asked. After all, what business was it of hers? Her mother obviously knew him and Meg was convinced that her mother knew where Christine was. She also figured that if her mother knew, and if Christine was anything like the girl that she had grown up with, then she was safe, and well, somewhere with the Phantom.

Henry agreed with Meg that her mother knew where Christine was, of course, she had not mentioned the part about the Phantom. Christine had entrusted the fact that he was still alive to her and not even Henry could get this out of her. She glanced to look at him and her mother, forcing her eyes to leave the wonder on the stage. He was handsome and tall, built as a gentleman should be, strong and masterful. Her mother looked elegant as always but for some reason Meg sensed that something wasn't right. What it was though, Meg didn't know.

At the end of the magnificent performance all of the patrons shuffled out of the theatre and into the social area, where they talked and drank and poured over the voices of the performers. Meg was drinking water, as she so often did, when she glanced up to see Philippe deep in conversation with Henry, Tomas and Jacques. Tomas was an old family friend, usually a quiet man who tended not to socialise. Meg had known him since they were children and it was a well known fact that Tomas had always had a soft spot for Meg. Nothing had ever happened though and Meg was happy with him being her friend. He had recently come out of his shell a little due to meeting a nice young lady from just outside of town. Her name escaped Meg at that time and she made a mental note to ask him about her later.

Jacques was an unusual character who worked the reception at the opera house. He was in his early fifties and had always got on well with her mother. However, he was quiet, kept himself to himself and so she was surprised to  
see him remain talking to Philippe as both Henry and Tomas wandered away. She watched his face, full of concentration in what Philippe was saying and then abruptly Philippe smiled and turned away to talk to an elderly gentleman behind him. Henry walked over and handed Meg a small Gin and water, which she accepted gratefully. As she glanced back over his shoulder she realised that both Jacques and Philippe had gone.

* * *

Le Comte de Chagny had been most clear in his instructions earlier in the  
day.

Christine must be found.

The only instructions he gave were that it was of utmost importance, strictly confidential and worth a lot of money.

'Find her by any means.' He had said and when questions to which what any means meant Philippe de Chagny had replied 'ANY means, she doesn't need to be found alive

Still, it was an important and confidential job, which would bring in enough money to be able to sustain anybody for a very long period of time. Comte de Chagny had made it perfectly clear that neither questions to motive nor any weakness would be forgiven.

It was simple.

So very simply.

Find her.

Now.


	37. Angel or Devil

**Chapter 37- Angel or Devil**

Christine awoke with a start and leapt out of bed, her energy levels were vastly improved but something didn't feel right inside her. She glanced out of the window to see Erik walking over the hill, not even glancing back to see if she was watching. He didn't have to check, he knew already. Her heart sank as he disappeared out of sight and she let out a long sigh as she slumped back on to the bed. Her eyes drifted over to the clock which read that it was ten am and she wondered to herself how she had slept for so long again. With a grown she pushed herself out of bed, wrapped her shawl tightly around her and walked through to the living room.

She considered stepping outside for a while but she felt an all too familiar pull on her body. Something was pulling her towards the stairs. Yesterday, while Erik had been gone she had been searching through his drawers to find some paper to draw on, she found no paper but she did find a key. She immediately, and without checking, knew where the key was for.

Without thinking about it again she had one finallook out of the window and raced to the drawer in which she found the key. She took the key out of the drawer, closed it carefully and walked up the stairs. Half way up she stopped and gave it a second thought but her curiosity was too much and so she continued up to the top of the stairs and turned to face the locked door.

* * *

Erik knew Christine would be up and had probably seen him walk away but he also knew that she needed to get used to her own space and get well again. It would take time, he thought, but she had shown a remarkable improvement. She seemed to have a great deal more energy and a sparkle in her eye. At least her physical health was improving.

The sun was blaring down on him as he wandered towards Emily's house and a feeling of anticipation washed over his body and warmedhim from the inside. His alarms were still there in his mind but they were duller this morning and in spite of himself he was looking forward to seeing Emily. He walked towards the house and saw the dog, barking, from where he was standing. He was barking at people walking by but as Erik approached the house the dog lay down and looked up at him respectfully. Erik grunted and stepped over him.

Before he could knock the door Emily opened it and smiled, he stepped to the side so that he was standing directly in front of her.

'I knew you were here,' she said and her smile widened.

'How?' he asked, thinking afterwards that it was perhaps a little insensitive. She didn't seem to mind.

'A feeling,' she said. 'That and the dog stopped barking.'

He smiled too, for her, even though he knew she couldn't see it.

'Well,' he said. 'What do you have planned for us?'

'You're smiling,' she said, as though she was reading his mind. 'You can hear a persons smile in their voice.' and then she beamed at him and he suddenly began to relax. 'I thought we would go for a walk to the park, perhaps I can get to know you as I spoke _so_ much about myself yesterday...'

'I don't mind,' Erik said, stopping her mid sentence. Why had he said that, he thought, as he watched Emily close the front door behind her and reach for the dog's rope.

They began to walk and talk. She was so relaxed and so comfortable around him that for a moment he thought that he knew her from somewhere. Her easy way of speaking made him think that if she could see then she certainly wouldn't be so open with her. She probably wouldn't want to spend time with him at all.

'Do your play your instruments?' she asked, and he glanced sideways at her as they moved towards the field.

'Not very well,' he replied simply and she smiled.

'I'd like to hear you play,' she said softly and he shook his head.

'I don't really play anymore and I never played well enough to begin with,'  
he cracked a forced smile. 'Wouldn't subject your ears to it.'

'I'm sure you're being modest,' she said and playing nudged him with her  
shoulder.

They setttled onto a bench in the centre of the park and she turned to face  
him, tucking one leg under the other.

'Tell me what you look like, Erik,' she said gently. 'I could see once, I'm  
sure I could try to picture you.'

'You could see?' he asked, trying to change the subject. He failed.

'Yes,' she said. 'So, tell me...'

'I told you yesterday that my face is not a nice sight,' he said firmly.

'All of it?' she said, either not detecting or ignoring the warning tone of his voice.

'No,'

'Then tell me,'

'Emily,' he said and suddenly his voice sound distant to his ears. 'I don't...'

'Please,' she said. He groaned internally and wondered what was the matter with him. Why couldn't he just say no and walk away? That was how he usually dealt with things. He was becoming angry with himself.

'I have black hair,' he said and she smiled. Had she just wrapped him around her finger?

'Black or dark?'

'Imagine the most black you ever saw when you were younger,' he said, bearing in mind that she used to have her sight. he saw her nod. 'It's blacker than that.'

She grinned.

'My face...' he began but then suddenly felt stuck. 'How do I describe?'

'Describe it how it looks,' she teased then added. 'Is it sharp? Smooth? Are you really thin?'

'I've...' he thought for a moment. 'I've a very sharp jaw, angular, kind of, defined.'

'And...' she prompted, he rolled his eyes.

'My cheek bone is high,' he said. 'I'm not really thin.'

'I felt your face,' she said quietly. 'You feel good.'

'Thank you,' he said, a little embarrassed and unsure what to say to her next.

'What colour are your eyes?' she asked, reaching her hand out to find his. She held it gently and to his own amazement he didn't move away.

'They're blue,'

'Dark blue?'

'Sort of,' he said and watched her break into another smile. She ran her hand along his arm to his neck and then back up to his face.

'Angular jaw,' she said moving her hand over it gently. Erik froze. She moved her hand up slowly. 'High cheek,' she said.

Erik swallowed hard. She moved her hand back down. 'You didn't tell me about your lips' she said as she touched them but before he could say anything she moved forward and placed her mouth over his, kissing him softly.

'Soft lips,' she said and suddenly, Erik was happy that she was blind.


	38. Trouble

**A/N: Three Chapters for you because they're pretty short and it's been a while since I updated AND I got so many reviews.**

**Modesty: _I hope your computer gets sorted out soon, I've got my fingers crossed. Thank you, as always, for the reviews._**

_**Elektra: Welcome to my reviewing 'community' though I'm not sure it's quite big enough to be called that! There is potential for several triangles… whether I explore any… thanks for the review ;)**_

**Undermyangels: _Thank you again for the wonderful review. I do my best with the chapter length but I prefer them short… I do try though! I try to update more often with more chapters if I can, rather than changing the length of my chapters. I've always been a fan of shorter chapters because of the 'paciness' of the stories._**

**Angelofmusic: _I think you might make up your mind after the next few chapters. Just a thought. Bear in mind that these next few chapters may or may not reflect the way the story will go from a romantic perspective…_**

**Ahomelesspirate: _Thank you as always! Such great reviews. Philippe is creepy… Philippe will be seen soon… very soon._**

**Kaledena: _Thank you for reviewing again, means a lot to me that you (and the others) have all taken the time. It is cute… lol_**

**Chapter 38- Trouble.**

The door edged open with a creek and Christine strained her eyes to see in the darkness of the room. There was one window to the side, which she could make out faintly, but otherwise there was no way of letting light in. The window was covered with a drape and Christine stepped back out to ease the pain in her eyes. She thought for a moment before jogging back down the stairs to find a candle.

She fumbled through the top drawer of the cabinet closest to the door and after a few seconds her hand found what she was looking for. She took the candle to the fire and lit it on the low flames. Before she ascended the staircase she took another look out of the window, she would hate for Erik to be angry with her. This was obviously something that he didn't want her to see but between them there had been too many secrets and she had done so much to keep him happy. Today she wanted a little freedom.

She walked back up the stairs, realising that she was still a little out of breath for the jog down. It then crossed her mind that Erik was probably right, she probably wasn't as well as she thought she was. She put her hand on her chest and with a small smile it then crossed her mind that Erik was usually right.

At the top of the stairs she took a deep breath preparing herself for the worst that she thought she could possibly say. Closing her eyes she tried to blank her mind, picture what it could be. The worst it could be. A body? A skeleton? Pictures of her… like the doll in the opera cellars. She shook her head and opened her eyes, pushing the door open fully and holding the candle to her side to look at the wall nearest the door. There was another candle attached to the wall and carefully she lit that with the flame in her hand. Next to it was another, which she lit and then another.

The room was quickly light enough for her to see and as her eyes adjusted she thought again about the worst thing it could be. She thought of her worst dreams, her fights with Raoul, her heart ache but none of this prepared her for what was in front of her.

* * *

Meg's kiss landed square on Henry's lips and she broke into a smile against them. He kissed her back softly and pulled away, before pulling her into another close hug and then finally letting go completely. His strong arms fell to his side and his smile slowly evaporated as if it were never there to begin with.

'You know I have to go,' he said sadly and Meg nodded at him. Her hair was loose today, her fringe fell messily across her face as she looked up at him, trying to hide her tears.

'I know,' she whispered and leaned in to kiss his cheek. He turned to meet her lips, it wasn't often they got a great deal of privacy.

'I shouldn't be gone long,' he said and she frowned, fighting the lump in her throat.

'I know…'

'Yes, so..' he said, trying to make his smile look real. 'You should simply look forward to seeing me in a few days. None of this crying now.'

He was trying so hard to cheer her up but she wasn't used to _not_ seeing him.

'I know but it will be so hard, Henry,' she said. Don't whine Meg. He pulled her close and kissed her forehead gently.

'Please,' he said. 'Enough now, I must go but remember that I'm thinking of you and I will be home soon… in fact, I will bring you a gift on my return. Will that make you happy?'

'You being back will make me happy enough,' she said sweetly and he grinned a genuine grin.

'Then I'll go and soon I'll return.' He said, kissing her one last time on the cheek before turning and stepping through the door. 'See you soon.'

'Okay, Henry,' she said and waved at him as he walked down the road.

She missed him already.

* * *

Tomas kissed his intended with passion and pulled her near, not wanting to let her go. He spent time with her very irregularly but when he did his heart raced and he felt like he would explode. His chestnut hair was short and cut close, unusual and not fashionable but it suited him that way. His sharp blues eyes focused on her lovely figure and he couldn't resist the urge to kiss her again but this time at least try to show more passion.

'What have you done today?' he asked when he finally managed to break the hold. She smiled at him softly.

'Not much,' she said, kissed his hair as she handed him his drink. He sipped it slowly.

'Not much?' he said, smiling. 'What's not much?'

'Not much!' she said, laughing and poking him in the side with her finger.

'Didn't you see Emily today?' he asked, curiously. Sara frowned.

'Not today,' she said. Tomas smiled.

'Why not?' he asked.

'She went out,' she said. 'In fact, she isn't back yet.'

Tomas shrugged.

'Who did she go out with?'

'A gentleman she met,' her frown had not disappeared. 'Why do you ask?'

'Just worried for her is all,' he said, shrugging his shoulders and sipping his drink.

'Why?' she said.

'She's blind,' Tomas said, stating the obvious matter-of-factly.

'Does that mean she can't take care of herself?' Sara snapped and Tomas stared at her in confusion.

'Well… no… I was just…' but before he could finish the sentence the door opened and in walked a familiar face.


	39. The Room

**A/N: Make it two chapters… I'm not putting the next one up until tomorrow, I've decided you must wait :-D**

**Chapter 39- The Room **

Erik's eyes were fixed on Emily as she walked away. His mouth was warm from her kiss and his mind throbbed and tormented him. It tormented him even as her lips were pressed against his. Emily was pretty, she had a wonderful smile and a seemingly soft temperament but something wasn't right. He glanced around him cautiously before beginning his walk back to his house. The sun was out, high above him, boring down to the earth as if it were the middle of summer. Early spring was suiting him nicely this year, he thought as he wandered through the fields, en route home.

His mind drifted to the firmness of the kiss when Emily had sensed no resistance from him, she had pressed herself hard against him, placing her arms around his neck and pulling him close. It was true that he hadn't resisted, why would he? He hadn't been that close to a woman in... he shook his head, it didn't matter.

Did he like the kiss? Did he feel anything? He wasn't sure what he felt, his body was warm from her touch but that was seemingly all. Or was it? Perhaps he had simply forgotten what it was like to open up to a woman. He wondered if it were such a bad thing.

Why was his head hurting him so much?

He was over half way back to his house before he realised that his heart was aching, as if it was weighing him down. How quickly a person's mood could change, he thought. He looked up at a bird circling over the field and with a derisive chuckle he wondered if it was a vulture.

And suddenly he knew what he was feeling. It was guilt. In his heart he felt as though he had somehow betrayed Christine. He laughed at himself, angry, bemused at his own mind.

As he got to the top of the hill he glanced forward at his house and realised that something felt different. Something looked different. He allowed his eyes to drift around the field mentally he noted the trees were the same, beginning to allow the leaves back to their branches. The grass was green, the air was warm, the door to his house was closed, the gate was shut, the... there was light in the bedroom window.

With a sudden jolt he bolted forward, towards his house, pulling his sword from his side. He darted forward, throwing the door open and almost off it's hinges. Glancing around him quickly and taking everything in he ran upstairs, weapon out in front of him.

Christine?

She was in the room, alone, sitting on the floor with paper in her hands. She was staring.

Erik stood at the door and slowly put his sword away, he looked at her but she seemed as though she hadn't noticed him. His anger at her had diminished quickly as he walked around her and looked at her face, she was ashen.

He crouched by her side, looking at her, she glanced at him from the corner of her eyes. Her skin was pale, paler than usual and her eyes seemed dull. His eyes had adjusted to the poor light rapidly and he saw the red bloodshot edges.

'Christine...' he whispered and she stared at him. His words were stuck in his throat and that which was so powerful was now suddenly gone. He needed to find his voice.

'Why?' she said and he shook his head.

'This isn't how it looks,' he said, trying to find words to make her understand.

'What?' she said, her voice was low and hoarse.

'What are you doing in here?' he said, in an attempt to sound angry. There was no need for him to explain.

'What?' she gasped, her eyes filled with tears. She blinked and one trickled down her cheeked and dripped from her jaw. It landed on the paper in her hand.

'Stand up,' he said and she did, but she stared at him with defiance. 'Lets go.'

'No,' she said, firmly. 'I'm not your toy, I don't obey your every command.' She glared at him, fists balled by her side. 'Explain.'

'I...' he began but words failed him.

'What have you done?' she said. 'What are these?'

'Christine,' he said and then rolled his eyes. 'Your turn to aristocracy should have given you experience with these.' He took the paper from her hand and screwed it into a ball.

'Don't turn this around, I want to know what the hell is going on!'

'They're photographs,'

'And you took these?' she said, her voice getting higher.

'No,' he said simply and began to walk out.

'Why?' she said. 'Why do you have photographs of her?'

'Christine...' he said, his throat becoming tighter. She had never stood up to him like this before.

'Why?'

'Enough!' he shouted, his voice booming from the pit of his stomach. He reached out and grabbed her arm, pushing her out of the door but she spun around, ripping her arm away from him.

'Why?' she said, the tears stinging her eyes again but she remained steady, her eyes burning into him. He looked right at her.

'It's complicated,'

'Erik,' she said his name for the first time since he had asked her not to. His heart bounced against his chest. 'Why do you have photographs of Meg?


	40. More than Words

**A/N: More to come.**

**Undermyangels: I try to reply to all of my reviews and it's easy enough. Lol, I don't get that many! Thank you for the review, again. I'm not sure how reasonable an explanation you'll find this chapter… but you might like it.**

**Elektra: Thank you for the review. Keep thinking about it… guilt/ suspicion… it could be either or both couldn't it?**

**Kaledena: Thanks very much for the review. And you weren't supposed to see it coming. Lol**

**Modesty: As always thank you for the review. I'm sure something will be sorted so you can figure out how to update soon. Thanks again!**

**Chapter 40- More than Words.**

Erik stared at her as she turned her back on him and began to walk down the stairs. The room suddenly seemed as if the sun had dipped along with the mood of the day. As he followed her he noticed the hallways desperate eeriness, a feeling he wasn't used to washed quickly over his body. For a moment, he thought it was fear.

When she reached the living room she spun around to stare at him and when he tried to stop towards her she simply stepped away from him. His blue eyes were deep and as she looked at him she thought that she sensed sorrow but her anger was overcoming any other emotion she may have felt. She wanted an explanation.

'Erik,' she said, her tone was hard. 'Why do you have pictures of my friend?'

'I don't,' he said, his eyes staying riveted to her face.

'I've seen them, don't treat me like an idiot.'

'They're not of Meg,' he said.

'Then...' she said and stopped, her mind flew back to the pictures. 'Who is he?'

'He's a friend of Meg's,' he said slowly.

'But...'

'I told you, it's complicated.' He said. She looked at him, watched him as he stepped towards her, his arm reached out. She let him place his hand on her shoulder.

'Please...' she whispered.

'I'm doing this to protect you,' he said gently and suddenly tears flowed down her cheeks.

'I recognise him from the theatre,' she said. 'But I don't remember his name.'

'There's no reason you should,' he said, his tone had become so comforting that she almost swayed in it.

'Is Meg...' she began then swallowed hard. 'Is she... in danger?'

'No,' he said firmly. 'None.'

'Are you...?' her voice caught as he shook his head.

'I promise,' he said. 'And neither are you as long as you're with me.'

She nodded slowly shaking a tear from her chin. Her eyes met his.

'Christine, I…' he stopped, his voice trapped in his mouth. 'I would never let anyone hurt you,' he said, wondering where the words had come from. Her eyes softened but the tears continued, everything was finally catching up with her. The running, the hiding, Raoul...

Then Erik surprised her.

He pulled her into his chest and slid his arms gently around her tiny body, cradling her to his chest. She buried her head there, letting the tears wash his shirt and she clung to the back of his jacket, the material crumpled in her fists. She didn't sob and he didn't speak, he simply held her for what could have been infinity. She didn't care.

He was holding her.

His lips rested in her hair, he breathed in the soft apple fragrance and kissed it gently. He felt her sigh against him. As she raised her chin so that she was looking in his eyes he moved his lips down and kissed her softly.

Abruptly, her heart seemed to stop beating and she felt as though one day she could feel well again.


	41. Race

**Chapter 41- Race**

Henry had lied to Meg and the thought tortured his tired mind as the carriage wobbled across the cobblestones. He closed his eyes and rested his head against the wall, he could feel the change in the road surface as they hit a dirt road. They weren't far away.

He wasn't going where he had told Meg that he was going nor was he going there on that sort of business. No, this was another sort of business.

Far more important and more lucrative.

He passed an old hut and knew that they were getting closer but he feared he was going to be too late. If he was late this would mean trouble for him.

And for Meg.

* * *

Madame Giry realised that it had been years since she had felt this much energy or this much urgency. It was time. And it had come a lot quicker than she or he had anticipated. She had no way to warn him except to get there quickly and that was exactly what she intended to do.

So far she remained confused at how they had found Erik and Christine but the fact of the matter was that they had and that there was little time left to save them both. When she had seen Henry leave she had quickly thrown on her shawl and leapt onto her horse, riding herself for the first time in years. This was much quicker than a carriage ride.

As she galloped across what seemed such a vast countryside her mind raced as she thought how she would handle these new events. It wasn't though they had been unexpected. They just hadn't been expected quite this quickly.

She had not given them enough credit and she longed to know how they had done it. They certainly had not followed her there since the last time she had been forced to detour. She knew this because she hadn't attempted a visit since. She did not even know if Christine would be well enough to take flight and the thought terrified her.

She knew that Erik could take care of himself but she also knew what he was up against. Fear struck her hard and she nudged the horse in his side, spurring him on.

Now as the sun dipped below the distant trees she hoped that Erik and Christine had found some medium, had found a half way point between their differences. Erik had been angry for far too long and Christine had done only what was right for her. At the time. Of course, she was young and hadn't realized the implications of her naïve actions.

She had crushed Erik and though she chose Raoul it was only a matter of time before she realized that she was wrong. And that had crushed him too.

She had destroyed herself in this process. Antoinette knew from her own experience of love and loss that getting someone you care about off your mind was as difficult as leaving them behind. She had done it herself.

She had done it with Jacque.

Jacque had been a close friend for years, his sharp eyes and gifted story telling put her at ease with him and also, it put her at ease with herself. Antoinette knew that she was seen as the cold hearted, powerful woman. The one that worked at the Opera House, who conducted ballet like a maestro conducted the orchestra. She was aware that when people looked at her they saw the woman with her brown hair scraped back tight and wearing dark, conservative clothes. To these people, the people who didn't know her, she  
was not even a woman at all. She was just there and to be avoided.

And that suited her.

She liked her own company, her privacy. Of course, she didn't like it quite to the extent that Erik did. He had made a lifetime of being alone, of liking being alone. But even now, as he was growing older even he was beginning to see that life wasn't made to be spent alone, making music and instruments. Life was for sharing. Antoinette urged the horse onwards, the dust flew up from its hooves as they pounded the floor.

Never before had the saying 'time is of the essence' been so apt a description for anything. She patted the horse's neck firmly, good boy, she thought as he ran on.

Again her mind fixed on her past, on her life, on everything she had done. As a child, as a girl, as a woman and as a mother. Some of the things she had encountered, some of the things she had thought. In that moment she seemed to remember her entire history, the bad and the good, the ups and the downs.

Landmark in her life, however, was Erik.

She had rescued him from the people who tortured him and used him as some sort of freak show. He wasn't a freak then and he wasn't now. He was simply unfortunate. Their friendship had evolved in strange ways, they had been friends and even for one night, lovers. He was her protégé and she was his confidante. It was Erik who had once drawn her attention to Jacques. She remembered, when they were teenagers, they were sitting on the beams high above the opera house, staring down at the commotion below them.

She smiled at the memory. Erik had pointed at a young man below and said,  
'He is the man you should marry, Nette.' And Antoinette had laughed at him. It wasn't long before she realised that she should have listened and she had listened to him ever since.

That man was Jacque Persimere and he worked at the opera house as a labourer. Generally they treated the young man as a dog's body, having him run around, conducting all errands, fixing things, cleanings things and building sets. Over the years he had been promoted due to his loyal service and he now looked over the reception and ticket sales at the Opera Populaire. He was not an overtly intelligent man, he was too quiet for such a thing. Instead he learned to read and write in his own time, choosing historical texts over fiction. Antoinette allowed herself a brief smile. There was nothing in history that Jacque didn't know.

But she had married.

And then so had he. Unfortunately, they had not married each other. They didn't realise this as they married, both happy with their partners and for each other.

As it turned out the dashing young man that she had married was not the charmer he seemed. He was abusive, mentally and physically, and finally, he had left her. This, however, had given her no comfort. She actually missed the man and without Jacques to confide in she had turned to her longest and dearest friend. She had turned to Erik. Things had happened exactly the way she had told Christine, it was loneliness that united them and Erik's craving for loneliness that always sent her home.

Jacques was married to that woman to this day.

She had never been in love with Erik but she was jealous of Christine. Not because she wanted to be with Erik but because she was afraid that once Erik was wrapped up in Christine their friendship would diminish. Despite her pangs of jealousy her real concern was always for Erik's health and safety. Antoinette had worked so hard to help him, to make him come back out of his shell. Had she not have been there she was convinced that he would have died of a broken heart. He was barely eating, drinking only what was necessary. He would not leave the home they had found nor would invite her in readily.  
She worked hard and in the end it paid off.

Until Christine had been unable to get him from her mind. Of course Erik hadn't helped this. The rose had not helped but Antoinette understood why he did it.

The three of them knew that she had condemned a man to death in place to Erik, to save him. The rose was to say that he was sorry, that he loves her still, that he was there looking over her that day. The rose was symbol of emotion.

The horse bolted hard through the woodland and the change in texture of the land beneath them shook her from her thoughts and set her mind back to the task at hand.

Again, she dug her heel into the horses side.

Time was of the essence.


	42. With Dreams and Angels

**Chapter rating M**

**PLEASE note rating for this chapter is M. It is not necessarily integral and  
for those of you that don't read it I will make a summary at the start of  
the next chapter. I like to think that this is not irrelevant smut, I think  
it's necessary. Please be assured before you read it that it is not  
completely X rated and there are moments that provoke thought for both  
parties in the chapter. If you don't want to read it or you are too young,  
please don't. I promise an update very soon and you won't miss any important  
plot moments.**

**I will not be held responsible for any person under the designated age for  
this websites rating reading this piece of fiction. I have set out a warning  
and cannot be held accountable for anyone's actions but my own.**

_'now that we're here,  
it's so far away  
all the struggle we thought was in vain  
all the mistakes,  
one life contained  
they all finally start to go away  
now that we're here its so far away  
and i feel like i can face the day i can forgive  
and i'm not ashamed to be the person that i am today_

these are my words  
that i've never said before  
i think i'm doing okay  
and this is the smile  
that i've never shown before

somebody shake me 'cause i  
i must be sleeping' - So Far Away- Staind

**Chapter 42- With Dreams and Angels**

The kiss lingered on her lips, like a droplet of water to a rose. She closed her eyes and imagined all of the times she had been desperate for something to feel so right. It had never felt like this with Raoul.

He looked down at her, his arms still tightly around her body, and into her eyes. Their chocolate brown were sparkling, so deep, so young. He couldn't stop looking at her, he couldn't tear his eyes away. And she couldn't take her eyes away from him.

He brushed his lips softly over hers and she pushed her body against him, trying to hold him tighter, trying to get him closer. He slid his hand to the centre of her back and pulled her up so that she was light on her feet and completely as his mercy as he kissed her deeply.

His lips tingled from the sensation. _This_ was right.

She pulled back, cheeks flushing a gentle pink as she glanced up at him, embarrassed. She smiled and then for the first time since she had been there so did he. Properly.

'Are you okay?' he said, his voice quiet and low. So soft.

'Yes,' she whispered and stepped back away from him, taking his hand in hers and leading him to the corridor. When they stopped he looked down at her and became suddenly aware of himself. His sword at his side, the mask on his face, his out door wear, his heart. He let go of her hand and shook his head from side to side. He sighed.

Turning away he walked to the stairs leaving her to watch him.

She turned, stepping into the bedroom and slammed the door behind her as her eyes filled with tears. She collapsed to the bed as the tears streaked down her face, the kiss still playing with her mind. Erik always played with her mind.

She lay there, bed wet from her tears, with her hand over her chest clutching her heart, fighting the sobs that threatened to rack through her body. She tried to breath but as she did, her chest pulled and she wanted to scream. She turned over and pulled her pillow around her ears, she cried hard into the fabric.

She cried so hard that she didn't hear the quiet creak of the door sliding open behind her and she didn't hear Erik slip in, wearing no sword nor jacket. He walked slowly, gingerly to the bed and sat by her side. She didn't look up, she didn't want to look at him.

He placed his hand on her back, rubbing softly, he could feel her crying. His hand moved up to her hair and he stroked it, moving it from her ears. The pillow was still hiding her face and so he leaned forward and kissed the top of her ear, and then her ear lobe. His lips moved down to the back of her neck as his hand shifted her hair carefully to the side. He kissed her neck slowly, until she relinquished the grip on the pillow and turned to face him.

As she did, he didn't move, instead, when she turned, he continued to kiss her neck until he was at her throat. He grazed his teeth lightly up the side of her neck and rested his lips on her jaw. She closed her eyes and took a long, deep breath, before moving her hands around to slowly unbutton his shirt, she took her time, revelled in the feel of his skin, the pressure of his lips on her cheeks, on her lips...

This was somewhere neither of them had been before, this was new territory, it was a new place. Their lips pressed together, their hands on each other so... intimately... perhaps this was the way it should have been all the time. Perhaps what had happened before was wrong. Christine knew now that she had married the wrong man. No, she knew it before but this simply confirmed it.

Erik's hands were gentle, more gentle than they had ever been with her before, they flitted over her skin with the tenderness of butterflies, his lips touched her in places she never realised could feel so awake. Even the backs of her knees ached for him.

His shirt fell to the floor beside them as he knelt on the bed, over her body, his hands moved slowly along her sides to the base of her night dress and he lifted it slowly, letting the back of his hands sweep across the warm skin of her thighs. Christine propped herself up on her arms and kissed his mouth hard and he kissed her back with equal fervour. When they pulled away she lifted her arms over her head allowing him to slip her dress off and throw it aside.

He kissed her again, letting their mouths melt together, warm and soft, gentle then firm. His hands drifted up her sides as she ran her nails gently over his chest and down to his belt, which she fumbled with before blushing and giving him a sorry look. He smiled tenderly and helped her, removing his belt and then his trousers before turning his attention back to her. He had waited so long.

There had been moments in their mutual history where this had been possible, it had been felt but never voiced nor acted on. When they were alone in the cellars of the opera house, faces lit by candles, looking at only each other and hearing only one another. He had wanted for her to touch him so many times, he had longed for her hands, her lips, the feel of her skin... Never had he dreamt her skin could feel like _this_.

This time she kissed his neck, bit his collarbone, let her lips brush over his skin with only the faintest of touches, his fingers felt the grooves of her naked back, tickling her until she couldn't bear it any more. Her warm breath painted his skin, made his hairs prickle and his eyes close.

Her hands felt the muscles in his arms and chest, moved around to his back as she once again found his lips with hers. His mask was different, not hard but a soft material, she wanted to take it off but she knew he had left it there for a reason. And she remembered what had happened the last time she had taken it away from him. His mouth covered hers, kissed her, made her feel warm, his lips made her forget the past.

Then she lay back down, under him and gazed up at him, caught his eyes with hers, watched the dimming light from the window reflect in them, dance in them. They were glowing bluer than she had ever seen them before, bluer than the ocean, the sky... they drank her in, her face and her body. He lowered himself over her, kissed her face, all over.

She wrapped her legs around the back of his thighs, used them to pull him towards her. He yielded, letting himself press against her, she kissed his chest and he touched her stomach, let his fingers trickle up her body, touching her breasts gently. She clenched her teeth, shuddered at his touch. He kissed her jaw, touched her body, felt her skin and warmth and as he moved forward to rock against she gasped quietly into his ear, making his spine tingle.

The rooms darkening light allowed them to see each other in ways that they had only dreamed, merged together they breathed in rhythm. Erik fought hard to control the urge to grab her and let all of the passion out at once, the years it had built up, the nights he'd spent dreaming about her, about this. But he didn't, he gritted his teeth and took his time, he kissed her and rocked slowly. He felt her move against him.

They remained together for what could have been hours or even days, it felt like it should have been eternity as her hands gripped his back. The room was silent, for the whole time it was silent, except for Christine's occasional gasps and their irregular breathing. There were no words, no yells, no groans simply the sound of them together and the sound of their breathing. It seemed _right_ that way. Sound would have taken away from the  
feeling, it would have taken away from the atmosphere that they'd both craved for so long. They wanted to hear each other breath and feel each other's  
hearts... tonight they wanted to be with dreams and angels.


	43. Everything I've Known

**A/N: All of my reviewers have deserted me! Lol, and I've been updating so quickly!**

**Right, last update for a week or so, I'm going on holiday.**

**Kaledena: Thank you for the review. They are together… but…**

**Elektra: Thank you for the review. I'm glad it didn't come across as too lusty. I knew it needed to NOT be. If that makes sense. I don't believe I've ever been called anyone's hero before… lol**

**Chapter 43- Everything I've Known **

Tomas looked over at the figure now sitting in the corner of his living room, then his glance moved back to Emily, who had been home only an hour. There had barely been a word passed between any of them. Tomas was glad that Emily couldn't see his face right now, right now he was sorry for everything that he'd ever done.

* * *

He had stared at Henry blankly when he had told him the situation. It was like a thunderbolt through his mind. He didn't understand why he hadn't seen it himself, he should have seen it. Surely, he should have seen it!

That was when he'd gone on the move.

He had decided that it was time to deal with this once and for all.

She had to be found.

Tonight enough was simply enough.

* * *

Meg had gone to bed early, not long after her mother had left in what seemed a hurry. Since then she had been lying wrapped in her blanket, gazing out of the gap in her curtains watching the sky fade to a dull orange and now finally, a near black. The stars were sparkling high above her and the night was beautiful but her mind was in a spin,

Something was bothering her and she couldn't quite figure out what it was. She thought it had something to do with Henry. She thought carefully about the last few weeks and suddenly her mind edged on to what it was.

She knew what was bothering her.

It had been such a sudden change. Not in Henry but in Philippe. Without any warning, no gentle give, Philippe had begun inviting Henry to the opera, to see the shows. He had invited him to use the Boxes, invited him for free drinks and genial conversation. There was nothing right about that. Meg had not caught on at the time and was happy that, although it was Philippe, Henry was being made to feel like part of the opera circle.

What had Henry done?

Then a few times only a few nights she had caught glimpses of her fiancé speaking to the Comte, they seemed deep in conversation. Important conversation. And it was certainly conversation they didn't want her to hear. Whenever she hinted that she was curious Henry would find a way to cut her off and change the subject. Why had it taken until tonight to figure that out?

Henry going away tonight had certainly triggered it, that must be it. And where was he going tonight. Business was usually conducted from closer to home and he hadn't actually told her where he was going. Just that he was going South for a few days on business, not worry and that he would be back as soon as he could.

Her heart thudded in her chest.

Christine.

Her mother had gone not long after Henry had left and in her haste had barely even opened her mouth to say goodbye. Her mother had even ridden away herself rather than taking a carriage. Something was wrong. Very wrong.

And she was convinced now that it must have something to do with Christine. The way Henry had always been so keen to change the subject. It was something that involved Philippe, something that he had dragged Henry in on and something that her mother wanted to prevent. Why else would she have run out so fast? She would do anything to protect Chris... no, she would do anything to protect the Phantom.

And that was surely where Christine was.

Meg felt sick, the bile rose in her throat and burned her inside. She wanted to vomit but all she could do was stare out of the window. She had never felt so helpless.


	44. Christine

**A/N: Wow, I have found a new fan. Lets see if she stays with me lol**

**QueenSarah:** _I'd love to reply to everyone of your reviews but I don't have the time or the space! That would be a chapter in itself. _

_Firstly, I'm going to apologise for the lack of updates. I was on holiday and then when I got back I was not feeling up to writing. I am now. So I am updating and hopefully I will have another update for you before next week starts. _

_Thank you for all of the comments, I have read them all. I'd like to address some of your 'concerns' _

_E/C or not, and I don't usually decide until the end… I think the chapter where they are finally together was necessary for Erik. I also (in answer to a few other people as well) believe that it had to happen that suddenly. That if either of them thought about it too much they would back out for several reason (which I won't go into right now). _

_There will be more about why this happened in one of the following chapters, written from Erik's perspective. _

_As for Raoul… we love Raoul and I think it's important that everyone understands that he is a good decent (if misguided) man. And he would not see Christine harmed. Not a hair on her head. But he wants to find her desperately. _

**Ahomelesspirate**: _I'm starting to tie things together. Soon all will make sense! Thank you, as always for your reviews._

**Kaledena:** _Thank you for your review!_

**Elektra**: _Thank you! Hero… I don't know. I try to please people but there will always be some you leave unhappy with your decisions in a story. _

Anyway, without further ado.

**Chapter 44- Christine**

She sighed softly as her head rested comfortably on his bare chest. Her hair was damp with sweat, some clung to her face and some to Erik's chest. It tickled but neither of them cared. His arm was around her protectively, his hand held hers. He was lying in his back, the light from the moon highlighting the bare left side of his face. The bliss of the evening was settling in the room, the silence had not yet ended.

It was a contented silence.

With her head on his chest she could hear his heart beat, which had slowly steadied to what could be considered a healthy pace. Maybe. She sighed and kissed his chest, looked up at him and kissed his chin. He gave her a small smile.

'Are you okay?' he mumbled, closing his eyes and rested his head back against the pillow.

'Yes,' she said, her voice was soft and tired. He kissed her hair and she smiled against his skin.

'I'm sorry if I...'

'You didn't, Erik,' she said and he let out a small laugh. She glanced up at him. 'What?'

'You don't know what I was going to say,' he said, opening one eye and looking at her.

'You were going to apologise in case you'd hurt me, or taken advantage or, or and or,' she said with a grin. 'You haven't hurt me, or taken advantage or or or...'

He laughed and eased her off his chest, leaning over he kissed her lips gently and she kissed him back. As he stood up he stretched his long, powerful arms over his head and she watched the muscles of his stomach ripple in the moonlight. She felt herself blush, she felt her age again, he had made her remember that she was young.

'I'm going to get dressed,' he said, looking down at her as he walked to the door. She watched him carefully.

'Okay,' she said and flashed him a smile.

'Shall we go for a walk?' he asked as he stepped out of the door. Her smile raised to a grin and her heart leapt in her chest. She was going to go out. Yes, it may only be for a walk, only for thirty minutes but she hadn't left this house in months due to her illness. She hid her excitement.

'I'll dress too then,' she said and he lifted his hand to tell her that he had heard her as he walked out of sight.

She pulled the sheet up to her face and giggled in to it, she felt so young and so childish. It felt wonderful.

She lay back for a moment, stretched her arms out and let out a long groan as she broke into another grin. She allowed her mind to fix onto Erik, onto the feeling of his arms draped over her, the feeling of their bodies pressed together. Had she always been waiting for this moment?

She still wasn't sure.

Their past had been so confused and manipulated by both of them, Erik's temper was hard to deal with much of the time, his eyes gained that glow when he was furious and it frightened her to her core. It terrified her. His moods were equally bad, the darkness could take him over rapidly and leave him nearly as quickly as it arrived.

Not that the darkness ever really left Erik. Erik had a cool temperement, so cool it was ice sometimes and she could feel it freeze the atmosphere. He never even needed to open his mouth, all he had to do was look. She remembered the first night she had met him, the first time she had actually seen him. He had been singing to her for a while, teaching her voice to hit notes she never knew existed. He could sing like no one she knew and no one she had met since. When the mirror had opened, it was so cold behind it that steam had actually come out as the dampness hit the hot air of her dressing room.

He had stood in front of her, looking at her, watching her, his hand out in front of him covered in a black glove. On his head he wore a hat, he was dressed in fine clothes and on his face there was that mask. The mask was brilliant white, so white it was frightening, it made her heart leap to her throat. Still, she remembered that she couldn't look away. All of his clothes were dark, no they weren't dark, they were black. His skin was pale and he was thin.

Immediately she had wondered what was under the mask and it was that curiosity could have gotten her killed. It had certainly endangered and ended the lives of so many others. In her head she knew that Erik was a killer but she also knew, in her heart, that he was not a cold blooded murdered. The people who died in some way deserved their fate for bringing so much misery to others.

Christine closed her eyes tightly. It was thoughts like this that made her realise that she had changed so much over the last few years. Surely murder was always wrong.

Or maybe not.

Her mind drifted back to the night he appeared before her, looking wonderful, looking handsome and mysterious.

He had thrown a shawl over her shoulders and then he carefully took her hand, before leading her down through corridor up on corridor, past mirrors and over walls she could  
barely even see. She could not even remember how to get back and although she was scared as she was led down there, there wasn't a cell in her body telling her to turn back. She wanted to go with him. She had been so desperate to meet him.

Then, they arrived at an opening and suddenly there was a lake in front of them, it was as if it had come from nowhere. He had lifted her carefully into his arms and lay her down at the back of the boat. As he had jumped in and lifted the oar she had watched him with anxiousness and complete amazement. The room was black, no light was allowed through, there were no windows and no doors that she could see. She could only have guessed that they were far, far underground, under the opera house in a cellar she never knew existed.

Christine knew now that no one else had known of it's existence either.

It then narrowed into another corridor of water and they joined a cross section. She remembered that Erik had taken a left, pushing the boat along which glided like silk over the black water. As they travelled down the chill in the air had gained ferocity and she had tugged the shawl tightly around her, listening to the water ripple under the boat and  
listening to Erik hum to himself. When the room finally opened out again a gate closed behind them and she realised that they were at their destination.

Across the way was an organ, black and imposing, she could see the glistening white of the keys from where she was. They got closer and she noticed chairs, tables, separate rooms but most prominent of all were the books.

There had been books everywhere. Bookshelves, cases, cabinets with books in, books piled onto the ends of the tables, some on the floor and some on the organ. They were in short stacks and tall stacks, some were covered in dust, some were old and some were new. She was astounded he could even see them properly when he tried to read.

But then, Erik always managed to surpass her expectations.

When the boat came to a halt by some steps he hooked a rope around a post in the corner and then stepped towards her, hand out, and helped her out of the boat. It was then that he began to sing for her. And only for her. She had felt then that he was in love with her, she knew that she should try to leave but for some reason as he sang she was no longer frightened. She wasn't scared of the harshness of the cold or the darkness of the room and she wasn't afraid of the man in the mask.

'Music of the night' was the song that blessed his lips and touched her ears. Like a whisp of candle smoke it had drifted around her, barely touching her yet filing her soul. It was a song so beautiful that in the darkness of the opera cellar she had fought tears from her eyes. As he sang he had touched her stomach and her face and she hadn't resisted the warm feel on his body behind her as he sang into her heart.

She remembered nothing after that until she woke the next morning.

What she thought of now when she thought of Erik wasn't any of this, not really. Not the darkness and the bleakness. Not his mood swings or his cold heart. She knew he had a heart, she had just listened to it beat for her.

What she thought of was his eyes.

Those blue eyes, the eyes that encapsulated all of his sorrow and his hurt, his pain and his anger. That sparkled with joy when she sang and washed with emotion when she left...

'Are you ready?' He was standing at the door looking at her. She glanced up and smiled.

'Nearly,' she said and walked to him. Placing her hands on his chest she kissed his lips softly, and let her mouth linger on his.

Form some reason she didn't want to move away from him, something compelled her to hold him for longer. Something inside her told her to grab him, pull him close... telling her not to move away, to stay there, holding him and kissing him. Something inside her told her that he would soon be gone.

As she tried to shake the thought from her mind she realised that it had taken a firm grip and so she threw her arms around him and held him tight, laying another kiss on his soft lips. When she finally moved away she looked into his eyes so that he knew.

And now, she would fight the feeling and finish getting dressed and they would go for a walk.

They would do that because they needed to.


	45. Unashamed

**A/N: Things are progressing now… the next few chapters are fast and there's a chance they may the last. This one is still… well, you'll see. I introduce Erik… and hope to disappoint no one.**

**Chapter 45- Unashamed.**

Erik walked slowly next to Christine, looking ahead into the darkening distance. The moon was lifting itself above the horizon, striking down the daylight and replacing it with the freshness of night time. He moved his feet gracefully over the ground. He didn't walk, he drifted. He glanced down at Christine when he realised that neither of them had said a word for nearly half an hour. As his eyes moved down he took in the simple brown of her hair which in daylight shimmered a hundred colours. Tonight, it was simply a dark brown. He preferred it that way, he thought. Most of the time.

The shimmer sometimes took attention away from her face.

And then his eyes nestled onto the features of her face. Her high cheek bones, both soft and pink. Her lips, tender and red from earlier in the night. He closed his eyes for a moment and reflected on the taste of her lips. The feeling that she had trapped her essence somehow, somewhere inside his body and now there was no way he would ever get it out again.

He was acutely aware that her scent clung to his body like silk. He had not washed and for now, he didn't intend to. Perhaps later she would let him wash her hair, give him the pleasure of something so intimate.

Or maybe she wouldn't.

Her silence disturbed him and when he opened his eyes to look at her again he realised why. Over the last few months her presence in his home had become gradually bearable but never had it become welcome. It wasn't because Erik hated her or even that he didn't love her. It was simply that her being there was a constant reminder to him that she had chosen another man over himself. It was that niggle in his mind, the torturous voice which mocked him whenever he thought of her. When he had said that he didn't want her there he had truly meant it. And then when she fell ill, although he still didn't want her there, he realised that it was necessary.

It was that, or put her in danger, and nothing on the earth or in hell could have made Erik allow her to be in _any_ danger.

As he nursed her and watched her sleep, he sang to her. She didn't know that he had. For the most part she was unconscious or at least barely conscious enough that she had forgotten about it by the next time she woke up. Whenever that was.

For nearly a week he had honestly believed that she was going to die and that he would have to find some suitable burial for her, or worse, be forced to find a way of returning her to the pining Vicomte. In the end his perseverance paid off and he was rewarded with kind, mumbled words and then finally, Christine's improved health. He had been happy and had fought hard not to show it.

She couldn't know.

Over the next weeks, however many there were, she had spoken to him on many occasions. Frequently he ignored her, simply nodding in understanding but still she had continued. At first it infuriated him, he felt the hairs on his body bristle with anger. Then it had annoyed him, like a fly landing on your arm. And then, finally, it had begun to charm him.

Of course, he realised how difficult it was to persist in a quest that in your mind you know is probably worthless. Hadn't he done it with her? But he appreciated that she had made the effort and as time had progressed he had graced her with a smile or a few kind words here and there. Erik wasn't entirely used to being nice. Niceness was an entity which rarely encompassed him and he avoided it at most costs. People took niceness as a sign of weakness and took advantage of those either stupid enough, or brave enough, to give it.

Christine was different.

As time past by them, sometimes in a blur, and as Christine's health began to improve, he slowly began to realise that she deserved him to be nice to her. At first it was an effort and that slowly, it started to come more naturally. Still, he wasn't overly friendly, he did little that would give away any of his inner most emotions.

When he met Emily something inside his body and soul had clicked into place. He found her enchanting, fascinating. He was intrigued by her voice and captivated by the way she could take him anywhere in his own mind. He could be on a cloud. Of course, what Emily really was, was a substitute for Christine. The kiss had shown him that. He had realised that although the kiss was tender and real, it wasn't given to him by the one he loved.

Christine.

When he had seen her crying his anger at her being in that room had vanished instantaneously. He had wanted to fall to his knees and gather her carefully in to his chest. He wanted to make all of the explanations he thought that she deserved and most of all he wanted to make her okay. He wanted to make everything okay.

And then she was in his arms. Downstairs. In front of the fire. In the living room. The two of them. Christine. In _his_ arms.

Was he supposed to let her go?

He thought that he should, yet he ached to kiss her, he ached for her lips. And so he did kiss her. And it felt _right_.

When she had led him to the corridor he knew what was on her mind and what she was feeling at the time. Whether it was pity or not he didn't care, his heart screamed at him to kiss her, to follow her, to take her into the bedroom. His mind told him the opposite. That he would be hurt and even that, in some fantasy, that it was happening too soon.

It wasn't too soon.

It was nearly too late.

Making love to her was heaven, it was a paradise he never thought he could feel. When their souls connected he realised that he had done what was right for both of them, and not just for him. She had felt so wonderful.

She was _everything_.

He knew he had done it because he felt that he had to, he had to in case it was the last night that he ever had the opportunity to be with her.

His heart pounded.

'Erik,' her voice snapped him from his daydream and he glanced back down at her. 'Are you okay?'

'Yes,' he said and nodded gently, kicking a stone with the sole of his shoe.

'Are…' she began and swallowed hard. 'Are we okay?'

'Yes,' he said and allowed a soft smile to form on his lips. Then he held his arm out for her and she took it gently, sliding her hand through to loop he had made. She leaned against his body.

'I'm getting tired,' she said and he nodded at her.

'Then we'll head home,'

It was only when he saw her staring at him that he realised what he had said.

Had he really called it _their_ home?


	46. Shock

_He plays a melody,_

_Going to tear me all apart,_

_The silence is broken, _

_No words are spoken,_

_Just as I walk to the door,_

_I can feel your emotion,_

_It's pulling me back,_

_Back to love you_

_Caught up in the middle,_

_I cry just a little,_

_When I think of letting go,_

_Caught up in the middle,_

_I cry just a little,_

_When he plays piano in the dark. - Brenda Russell._

**Chapter 46- Shock**

After the shock had warn off Christine had nestled herself under his arm and walked back to the house tucked up in his warmth. The sun was all but down now, peeking its top only slightly over the flowing hills on the Horizon. Surrounded by hills and wooded areas was how she had always pictured Erik living, even while he was secretly residing under the opera house. She thought like this because of his love of solitude, his cravings for his own company. The hills blocked some light, but not all, and the trees cast ominous shadows across his lawn, which rocked with the breeze and, like hands, they touched his house.

As they arrived back to the garden she appraised it properly for the first time. She noticed that although it wasn't a big house, or an imposing house, it was certainly a suitable and comfortable premises. The house was tall, but not wide, with few flowers surrounding its outskirts. The windows were small but somehow caught all of the light from every angle and exposed every glint of the simmering sun. She noted the perfectly painted white of the door frame and around the windows. There were no cracks in the paintwork and the windows sparkled as if they had never been rained on. The inside of the house was equally impressive in its colour and cleanliness. It was not particular bright inside and there were no mirrors to reflect the light around the room. However, somehow the room managed to be beautiful.

Perhaps it was like Erik.

Erik was not perfect or brightly coloured, he didn't shine like a knight in armour bounding in on his white stallion.

He wasn't Prince Charming to her Cinderella; he wouldn't rescue her from her ills, her demons. He was her demon and her every pitfall. Somehow Erik managed to plunge her into her minds own hell but, then again, most of the time it was place she needed to be. She realised that if he had never driven her into her own self, into her ills, then she would never have grown or learnt to love the way she had finally learnt she could love. Still he was beautiful. How could she ever deny that she loved Raoul? She had loved him when she was a child, she had loved him when she was a girl and she now loved him as a woman.

But not the same way she loved Erik.

Everything in her mind yelled that he was wrong for her, that he was heartless, cold and manipulative. Her mind reeled after meetings with him when every time he would both confuse and exhilarate her soul. Her mind was strong but it was not nearly as strong as her heart.

Not anymore.

But still her mind drifted to Raoul.

Drifted to Raoul above fields and clouds.

They drifted to Raoul over the cool spring evening and they fixed on him. Christine realised that she was concerned for him, for how he felt about her. She wanted to be sure that he was alright, that he was well and on with his life without her. Something told her that none of these wishes for him were correct. She pictured his strong features, his strikingly sharp eyes and his light, soft hair. Oh how she loved him.

But she loved him a million ways she could never cope with. Most of the time she loved him the way she would have loved a brother or sister, sometimes the way she loved Meg or even Madame Giry. She cared, she even awed, respected and admired. What she never felt for him, though, was _passion_.

Not the passion she held for Erik, never had she loved Raoul with the pure and raw emotion she now realised she loved Erik with. The difference between her feelings for Raoul and those for Erik could be summed up simply.

If she were with Raoul she could learn to love him with her heart, her mind and even her soul. She could train the cells of her body to crave him and want him, make her mind question him and listen to him. Given enough time she knew that she could make her soul long for him. The difference between them was that although she could make her soul want to be with Raoul and love Raoul she could never turn him into her soul.

The difference was that Erik _was_ her soul.

* * *

Erik watched her from the comfort of his seat which was placed comfortably next to the fire. Christine was in the kitchen moving around, making dough, rolling pastry and mixing with large wooden spoons, in big bowls, that he had forgotten he owned.

She was cooking for him because she was worried about him.

He smiled at the thought that he might look unhealthy and then glanced down at himself. His arms were thick and strong, his chest and shoulders were broad, his legs were powerful. Generally, he felt that he ate well enough but obviously it wasn't quite the way Christine wanted him to eat. Erik knew that he didn't eat much and the concern that Christine was showing for him was enough to curb his temper and force him to allow to her fuss over him for a while.

He had lit the fire which was burning with intensity at his side and slowly his eyelids began to feel heavy. He blinked them open and watched Christine wander towards the back garden with arms full of washing. They closed again and slowly the sounds of the room stopped sifting into his mind as the warmth of the fire and smell of good food sent him in to a long awaited sleep.

What eventually woke him was the scream.

He shot bolt upright, looking around and started to reach for his sword but as he looked around further he realised that he was too late.

On the floor next to the door was blood which spread like paint up the door and across the wall on the far side of the room. His heart thudded in his chest as he groped for the weapon that wasn't there, that was in his room upstairs.

He knew now that it was all over.


	47. Henry

**A/N: I hope that this chapter doesn't disappoint anyone too much.**

**Queensarah: I whole heartedly agree with the sentiments about light and dark. Erik's love for Christine IS simple. So simply it's confusing! As for your other questions, keep reading…**

**Kaledena: Thank you for the review, It is sadder and, sorry, getting sadder… please read and review.**

**Elektra: And here, as you requested, is more… thanks for the review!**

**Ahomelesspirate: I hope you like this chapter… I really do… I've tried not to make it too obvious.**

**Read and review xx**

**Chapter 47- Henry**

Henry slipped into the dark living room, his sword hanging in his hand and shadows reaching for his wide shoulders. He leant against the wall and tried to take in a mouth full of oxygen but oddly he was too out of breath to try. As his cool, grey- blue eyes focused on the dull light in the room, he glanced at the fire and the over to the Phantom who was sitting in his chair staring at him. He squeezed the sword in his hand, its comfort dashed through his body.

His eyes swept away from the phantom and around the room, to the blood by his feet, on the wall and to the smoke pouring from the oven in front of him. Slowly he dragged his eyes back to the phantom. The phantom of the opera who was not dead, who had not hung at the gallows all those months ago, who Christine had rescued.

The man wearing a white mask, hiding the side of his face which was, he was reliably informed, horribly disfigured from birth. His hair was jet black, blacker than anything Henry had ever seen before and his eyes were a sharp blue, in this light they were a smoky blue.

Erik stared at Henry, his eyes taking in the reality of the situation. Henry was a tall man, especially when he was holding a sword and standing while Erik was seated. He was staring back at him. Erik realised that the blue in Henry's eyes was more prominent in the dark.

Perhaps Henry liked the dark too.

It was obvious to Erik now that they had found him and they had found Christine and that now, if she wasn't dead already, she would soon be killed. Erik was sure that he would also be killed, in fact, that was no doubt in his mind at all except for the tiny hope that he would get to Christine in time.

The sight of Henry in front of him had finally confirmed all of his fears.

Their time was up.

Henry scowled and stepped forward, rolling the handle of his weapon in his hand as he moved slowly towards his goal. It was the lack of coldness in Erik's eyes that stopped him in his place, the look of pure sadness then covered his face, replaced the ice that so many had said existed.

Henry was unsure what to do now, he had not been prepared to deal with this, not even in his wildest dreams had he realised that it would eventually come to this. Henry knew that outside the guards had taken hold of Christine and that soon Philippe would be joining them.

Philippe was not far away now and he was getting closer. There had been strict instructions that Christine was to be left to him and him alone but they had said nothing about the phantom. Apparently, the phantom was 'fair game', if anyone actually had the guts.

When Henry's eyes met again with Erik's he felt all of his past feelings build up in his body to give him the strength to do what he needed to do. Every hope, fear and moment of anger flooded his veins and compelled him forward towards the unarmed phantom.

Erik stared at him and before he noticed it, or could stop it, a tear rolled from his eye and fell to the floor. It seemed to happen in slow motion.

All of that blood, all over the room and then there was Henry, drawing closer.

When Henry was but a few steps away he stopped and took one more look into Erik's eyes before he collapsed forward in anguish and pain.

Erik reached out and cushioned Henry's fall, gathering him up as he too dropped to his knees. Blood poured from Henry's side, gushed down his body, staining the floor and Erik's clothes. The blood was warm and damp, it felt sticky as it seeped through Erik's shirt and onto his skin.

When Henry tried to breath, oxygen caught in his throat and he spluttered on  
air but he finally found the energy to let Erik see his face, to look into  
his eyes.

'I'm sorry,' he gasped, coughing as he struggled to get the words out. 'I was too late.'

'Christine...' Erik mumbled, almost begging for an answer, any answer.

'They...' he panted, fighting for life. 'She... alive. Philippe... not here yet... _Erik_...'

Erik glanced down and saw Henry blink his eyes closed and then force them open again, the effort in his breathing was obvious.

'Erik…' he gasped again. Erik nodded. 'Erik… it… hurts… _please_…'

And then his eyes closed but this time Henry didn't force them back open. He couldn't and a tear dripped from Erik's face onto Henry's forehead, as Erik pulled him into his chest.

'Goodnight,' Erik whispered as he kissed Henry's hair. 'Goodnight brother.'


	48. War

**A/N: Still, all will be explained… bear with me.**

**Individual replies next time but thank you all for the reviews!**

**Chapter 48- War**

Erik knelt on the cold, hard floor of the living room, staring at the wall where Henry's blood resided. His arms were still squeezing Henry in to his chest, he was afraid to let him go, he didn't _want_ to let him go.

Henry.

Erik's little brother.

Erik glanced down at Henry's silent body, clutched to his chest, his skin still so smooth yet so pale, his eyes closed. Unmoving. Erik felt another tear trickle slowly down his cheek and fall from the bump of his chin. He squeezed his eyes shut, fought away the feelings of sorrow, battled against the heart break, wrenching, painful heart break. His composure was crumbling into particles around him, his heart was torn in shreds as he held his brother close to him.

Henry _loved_ Erik and he, for a long time, had been the only one.

Erik sat dumb struck for what seemed like an eternity, he held back the sobs that threatened to form in his chest and he took long deep breaths.

Henry.

Erik's friend.

Erik's brother.

Erik's…

He felt the rage building from the pit of his stomach, chasing venom around his veins as his heart began to thud. He opened his eyes, all of his tears evaporated into the atmosphere to join the tears he had shed for Christine. He looked once more at his brother's lifeless body, cradled in his arms and then he stood and lifted Henry from the floor. Wandering over to the chair he carefully lay Henry on it and found a blanket to cover him. After kissing Henry's forehead softly and brushing his hair back from his face, Erik turned to face the door.

He clenched his fists as the anger pumped from his heart around to every muscle inside him, touching every cell, every tiny hair. They all screamed with fury. He glanced out of the window and then bolted for the stairs, as he ran up he heard voices coming from the back of the house and he knew he had to hurry.

Christine was still alive and Philippe was on his way. He needed to act swiftly and this meant that he had no time to fumble with the door key and find his sword. In stead he worked quickly on the rope which acted a stair rail. He sliced it down with his pocket knife and made his way silently to the rear of his home, where he could only imagine what he was about to find.

As he looked out of the back he realised that the light from the moon was barely visible here and what light it did allow simply set long shadows.

It made it darker.

All the better, he thought.

He slid along, with his back to the wall, until he reached the rear door and could push it open with his toe and peek out. In front of him were five guards, all armed and all crowded around Christine, who was lying on the floor staring up at them. From where he was standing, Erik could see the fear in her eyes and his pulse raced.

He stepped out and edged out towards the closest guard whom he took down in one swift motion, his arm around his neck.

_Snap_.

The other guards looked over as Erik hit the floor and covered the left side of his face. They looked confused, it was so dark that they couldn't see their friend, let alone Erik, dressed in black and merging with the dark. Two of the guards dragged Christine roughly to her feet and pulled her out of sight, the other two split into opposite directions.

The one who went back towards the house was the one Erik chose to follow. The guard wandered in, his sword in his hand and headed for the living area, in which the fire was still glowing. As he got there Erik, from the side, could just about make out the faint look of horror on the guards face as he realised that the phantom was not there.

But by this point, it was, of course, too late.

Erik had tied the rope into a lasso and flung it with amazing accuracy over the guards head. When he pulled it back he did so with such force that the guards head had fallen backwards and, like his friend, he lay dead on the floor with a broken neck.

As he turned to head back outside he felt a force in his back and he fell to the floor, hitting his head on the wall. Dazed, he managed to roll onto his back and look up at his assailant.

Tomas.

Erik stared at him for a moment before allowing an amused smile to form across his features. Erik felt blood begin to dribble down and along his temple.

Tomas stared at him.

'Stupid boy,' Erik spat and broke into a grin. Tomas' face had altered from triumphant to terrified as he realised that this man, lying on the floor in a mask was not at all frightened.

'Stay where you are,' he said. Erik laughed and then abruptly stopped, his eyes glowed fiercely as he glared at the young man in front of him.

The young man who had just thrown his life away for money.

Erik held his hand out to the side and, foolishly, Tomas' allowed his eyes to follow it. Erik kicked out, taking a swipe at Tomas' legs and hitting them hard, sending the man clattering to the floor in a heap. Erik leapt up and as he reached down to pick up the sword from Tomas' side he felt the tip of something very sharp in his back and with a rueful smile he turned to face Philippe.


	49. Le Comte et Le Fantome

**A/N: **

**Ahomelesspirate: Thank you for your reviews. Yes, Henry is Erik's brother… this will be delved into in the closing chapters. And thank you for the compliments. **

**Queensarah: I'm glad you liked it and I hope you like 48 and this one too. I'm trying not to let anyone down. I tried to give hints by talking about their eyes without giving it away before the chapter ended.**

**Modesty: We'll learn a little more about Henry later! I'm glad you're back and are liking the way the story is heading.**

**Step into my lair said the spider to the fly!**

**Chapter 49- Le Comte et Le Fantome **

Philippe's eyes glowed with a smug satisfaction only well bred people know how to show. The room suddenly felt icy cold, even with the food burning in the oven and the fire glowing behind him. Erik stared at Philippe, no longer smiling or amused in the slightest.

Philippe smiled.

'Hello,' he said. Erik wanted to hit him.

Hard.

Instead he simply stared, made no gesture to move, or to speak, as his eyes fixed on the Comte de Changy. Philippe's eyes were hard and narrow and Erik's met them with resistance.

'I said,' Philippe coughed. 'Hello.'

Erik glared.

'Fine,' said Philippe as he kicked Erik's feet from underneath him. Erik hit the floor with a thud and winced as pain shot through the side of his body. He lay there for a moment, once again fighting to recover his bearings, and glanced around the room.

There was still smoke coming from the over towards his left and the fire was still, somehow, burning behind him, allowing them a little light in this dark and destructive situation. Philippe paced over to the window and glanced out, very little light shone from the moon and the earth was barely visible under the haze it produced. Erik thought about leaping up but instead stayed put, he needed to think about this.

His rope was still around the guards neck on the far side of the room, his knife was outside after he dropped it whilst rolling to the floor to hide himself from the attackers and so he was left with nothing but his wits. He needed to keep Philippe either talking or on edge to give himself time to think of a plan, to think of someway out of this and to Christine.

It was obvious that Philippe and gone into the hallway and then the living room and as yet had not seen Christine. From this Erik deduced that she was still alive and generally unharmed. The guards would not dare disobey the rules they had been given by Philippe. Erik shot Philippe a smile as he turned around from the window to look down at him.

'Now here we were,' Philippe said, his tone trying to mock Erik. 'Thinking that _you _were dead.'

Erik smiled.

'And now… I see quite clearly that you are not,' he said, stepping closer to where Erik was lying. His back hurt and he could feel the blood still dripping from his head.

'Apparently not,' Erik said, still smiling through the pain. Any other man would have given up and dropped into unconsciousness. Not Erik. In a strange way Erik thrived on pain, it propelled him forward, it made him the man he was. It was the only thing he had to thank his mother for. That and Henry, of course.

'So I was correct about Christine all alone,' he said eying Erik cautiously. Erik gave nothing away. 'She really is a whore.'

Erik didn't move and although his mind was burning with rage his face showed none of this emotion. His face was portraying indifference.

'You don't disagree,' Philippe said and Erik simply stared at him, his blue eyes sharpening, their golden flecks becoming brighter. 'Ahh, so we have something in common.'

'I'm afraid,' Erik said in a low and menacing voice. 'That we have nothing in common.'

Philippe stared at the injured man at his feet for a moment before kicking him in the side and revelling in the pained gasp that he emitted. Then he laughed. Erik clutched his side for only a second until the initial sharpness of the pain subsided and then he let go, to show weakness was to give away knowledge and knowledge was power.

He looked up at Philippe and once again, shot him a smile. It said_, is that all you've got_?

Philippe returned the smile and stepped back, his sword held tightly in his pale hands.

'We have plenty in common,' he said after a long pause. 'We've both had sex with Christine.'

Erik couldn't help himself, he rolled his eyes.

'What?' Philippe said. 'You haven't? You must be the only one…'

Erik smiled again, this time thinking that Philippe was trying so hard to ruffle his feathers, trying desperately to get some sort of reaction out of him. Philippe was obviously the kind of man who needed this type of acknowledgment.

Shame, thought Erik, because he won't get it from me.

'Now,' said Philippe, hiding his irritation. 'What will your fate be?'

Erik again said nothing, choosing instead to remain silent and gauge Philippe's reaction to his non committal mood. There was anger in the Comte's eyes.

'You've got to go,' he said, almost blasé about the situation. About the man lying at his feet. 'I'm sorry… but I can't have you ruining my plans.'

Still, Erik was quiet.

'You've been a thorn in my side, phantom,' he growled, 'Nothing but a hindrance.'

Erik smiled.

'I'm tired of your games and your superior grin,' he said. 'You nearly ruined everything, people fear you, did you know that?'

Erik simply propped himself up on his elbows, facing Philippe, like a child waiting to be told a story. Philippe fumed.

'They fear you yet I can't see why, I don't understand,' he sputtered. 'Here you are, lying there like… some sort of tramp with your pathetic mask covering your god forsaken face… just… lying there like a chastised child.' He sniggered. 'They always said you were a ghost and we're about to find out just how mortal you are.'

As he raised his sword Erik closed his eyes and prayed that someone, somewhere, was looking out for Christine. He heard the air slice and the sword moved towards his chest and then suddenly there was nothing.

No sound but the crackling of the fire.

And then a booming voice;

'Enough!'


	50. Blood Brothers

**A/N: I REALLY hope this chapter disappoints no one! I thought so hard about where I wanted it to go.**

**Queensarah: Erik is an intelligent man but sometimes… he's also a violent one… we will see all sorts of him in the next few chapters.**

**Modesty: He is a tart. It's a fact. Thanks for the review!**

**Ahomelesspirate: Madame giry to the rescue? thanks for the review…**

**Please review…**

**Chapter 50- Blood Brothers.**

'Enough,' Raoul's voice echoed coldly around the room. The harshness of his tone evident, its severity unhidden, as he stood staring at his brother.

Erik lay on his back, the tip of Philippe's sword still pointedly aimed at his chest, the top edge shone as the light from the fire hit it. Philippe glanced side ways at Raoul, the sharp blade of the sword under his chin making it difficult to move, Philippe's eyes hardened visibly and Erik's gaze shifted back to Raoul.

Raoul was dishevelled and thin, his shirt was undone half way down and it hung off his left shoulder. His hair was loose and floppy and the sections that weren't matted down were messy and ruffled. The rush he had arrived in was evident in his fiery eyes and glistening skin, sweat trickled down his neck and the sight was highlighted by the angry vein by its side.

'I said enough,' he was trying to sound calm but it was obvious that he was anything but. He was furious. 'What are you doing here?'

'I've,' Philippe began, breathing slowly, not moving. 'I've been here for thirty minutes.'

He actually sounded calm, Raoul thought, standing there with his weapon touching his brother's throat.

'Was that what I asked?' he said, staring intensely.

'I've found the man who kidnapped your wife and you treat me this way?' Philippe said, his voice quivering slightly. Erik watched, he knew that now would be the perfect time to leap up and put an end to the madness that had enveloped his home. He knew that he could now take Philippe out in one move but still, something told him to stay still. Something inside him was fascinated by the scene in front of him and he simply could not draw his eyes away.

'Kidnapped my wife?' Raoul repeated, his voice not angry now nor emotional. His voice was as cold as his usually bright eyes.

'Yes,'

'Then where's my wife?' Raoul asked, again emitting a coldness that no one had witnessed from him before.

'I don't know,'

Raoul scowled and, for the first time, let his eyes fall to Erik, who was propped up on his elbows, lying at Philippe's feet. Erik, in spite of himself, shook his head from side to side and Raoul frowned, before turning his eyes back to his brother. His sword was still poised under Philippe's chin.

'He's a murderer,' said Philippe, glancing sideways from Erik to Raoul and then back to Erik.

'Maybe,' said Raoul thoughtfully as he looked around the room, at the body of the guard and the unconscious figure of Tomas lying in the corner of the room. 'But he's unarmed.'

'What?' Philippe said, almost shouted, in astonishment. 'That man kidnaps your wife and you worry about him being unarmed.'

'This isn't the gentleman's way, Philippe,' Raoul said and Erik almost enjoyed the sound of sarcasm in Raoul's voice. For a moment he actually thought that in another life they could have been friends.

'So you'll do what?' Philippe growled, no longer calm. 'You'll free him?'

Raoul stared blankly at his brother.

'Raoul,' he said, 'Put the sword down and we'll figure this out.'

Still Raoul didn't move, his gaze held unflinchingly on Philippe.

'He's a murderer,' he said and Raoul smiled.

'As you will be if you simply run him through,' Raoul's voice was suddenly so calm, he almost sounded as if he was enjoying himself.

'Raoul...' Philippe sounded exasperated. Raoul's face turned white as he leapt forward and, in a smooth motion, pushed Philippe back away from Erik and stood between the two men. Erik lying on the floor and Philippe standing less that five steps away.

Erik remained still.

'Raoul! What are you doing?' Philippe cried, staring at his brother. Both of them holding their swords out on front of them.

'Philippe,' said Raoul, his name sounded like poison. 'I know what you did.'

'And what did I do?' asked Philippe, forcing a frown to furrow his brow. Raoul was struggling to contain his temper.

'You,' he said. _'Dear_ brother... you... _bastard_ … **you**…tried to rape my wife.'

Philippe stared at first and then, a moment later, he was laughing hysterically, his free hand holding his stomach, tears rolling down his cheeks. Raoul shook his head and clenched the muscles in his jaw, in his whole body.

'And who, pray tell, told you that?' he said, through bouts of laughter.

'She did,' he said, glaring. 'She told me herself.'

'And you believed her?' He spat and Raoul shook his head in disbelief.

'Yes, and Henry told me… he told me tonight,' he said and then after a long pause, 'I believe them both.'

Erik closed his eyes at the sound of Henry's name and as he did Raoul turned to look behind him, suddenly remembering that he had seen a still figure lying on the seat. When he saw Henry's pale and motionless body he turned around to look at Philippe and a chuckle escaped from his throat.

'Did you kill him?' he asked holding in his sardonic laughter.

'No...' Philippe began but Raoul held his sword up to stop him.

'But you set this into motion... this is your fault.' Raoul said and laughed hard. It wasn't an amused laugh, Erik couldn't quite figure out what it was.

'I...'

'Idiot,' he said, staring at Philippe, his laughter still rumbling through his body. As quickly as it began his laughter stopped and he stepped towards Philippe, his eyes once again ice cold. 'I should kill you.'

Philippe looked at him.

'I should kill you right now,'

'Then do it,' Philippe snarled. 'Show some backbone for once in your life.'

Raoul shook his head, sorrow abruptly showing on his face, masking the glow of the fire in his eyes.

'As much as I utterly despise the ground you walk on,' he began, stepping backwards. 'I could never kill my own brother.'

Philippe laughed at him, shaking his head.

'I won't kill you,' Raoul said as he leaned down to help Erik to his feet.

'Then go away,' said Philippe.

'I won't kill you but I can't even guess what he might do,' Raoul said as he handed Erik his sword.


	51. Eye of the Devil

**A/N: Update.**

**Thank you all for the reviews. I haven't got time to leave individual replies this time but promise to in the next chapter!**

**Thank you to my new reviewers and faithful reviewers alike!**

**I hope _you like this chapter. _**

_No battle is worth fighting except the last one. –_ Enoch Powell

**Chapter 51- Eye of the Devil.**

Erik's fingers curled around the cold leather of the handle as he gripped it hard. Raoul was standing to his side now, looking at him carefully, he was obviously studying the side of Erik's face he could see. Erik looked back at him, his eyes catching flecks of orange from the fire. He watched as Raoul nodded his head, acknowledging something that was now unsaid between them.

You spared me and now I have spared you.

However, the fire was slowly beginning to die down and the chill in the room was fierce and surrounding them all. Movement in the corner of the room caused them all to look around at the entering Antoinette Giry, whose face was flushed red from her rush and the cold outside. She looked with horror around the room before bolting, with no fear, past Philippe and collapsing to the floor next to Henry's body.

Raoul looked at Erik, who was staring at Philippe. He simply could not bare to look at his brother. Raoul turned to look at Madame Giry in the silence of the night before he wandered to her and lifted her from the floor, placing an arm protectively around her shoulders, and walking her to the door.

Faintly he could hear her murmur 'Oh, Meg,'.

As they got to the door Raoul took one more look over his broad shoulder, first at Erik, standing tall with the weapon firmly in his hand and then at Philippe, who was a white as the ghost in front of him.

'Raoul!' he shouted as his brother turned and ushered Antoinette out of the living room door towards the front of the house. Raoul stood still but did not turn around. 'You can't leave me here… where are you going?'

'I'm going to find my wife,' he said, his tongue cool.

'This isn't a game,' he shouted. 'It isn't! This thing… he's a lunatic.'

Raoul spun around, face red with anger, flushed with his pain he glared at Philippe's arrogant face.

'That _thing_ is the man who has just nursed my wife back to health… the wife you nearly killed, that _thing _has been the only person she has felt like she can trust because of _you! _That _thing_… that thing… him…' he pointed towards Erik, whose mask was glowing orange from the shimmer of the fire. 'He… that _man_ has been the only one not to abuse that trust and you've murdered his brother… maybe he'll feel better after he kills mine.'

And with that Raoul reached to his side and drew out his dagger before plunging himself into the black, cold night.

* * *

Erik smiled.

Philippe's pale face stared back at him, his eyes showing the dawning of the realisation that he had lost the upper hand and that now it was an equal battle. Or, at least, _almost_ an equal battle. Erik, stepped forward and held the sword out in front of him.

'Monsieur,' Philippe said, stepping backwards. 'I'm sure we can work something out. I… I'm a very rich man.'

'As am I,' Erik said, simply, as he lunged forward catching Philippe's shirt on the tip of his sword.

He was playing with him.

Philippe fell back and tripped, managing somehow to catch himself so that he didn't topple to the floor he too held his sword aloft.

'Fine,' said Philippe as he leapt back towards Erik, aiming for his chest with the accuracy of an artist but without the speed of an athlete. Erik side-stepped and elbowed Philippe in the back sending him hurtling towards the wall by the kitchen. He hit it with a thud and then slowly turned to face his opponent.

Erik, once again, showed signs of a smile.

Philippe came forward again, this time with less force. Their swords touched.

_Clank_.

They fought like bears but moved like dancers around the room, their swords touching, hitting each other and then moving apart as they both stepped around the room. Erik drove his sword forward as Philippe allowed himself to be open to the attack and the tip of Erik's weapon caught Philippe in the thigh. He growled in pain and stepped away from the tackle before Erik could come with a final blow.

As Philippe limped backwards, blood began to ooze through the material of his trousers and his face grew paler. Sweat dripped from his brow and he was beginning to pant, likewise, Erik had beads of sweat forming under the places where the mask touched his face, he felt a droplet trickle to his lip. However, despite this, and the blood still oozing along his throat, Erik was not breathless, he was simply hot.

Erik pushed forward again, his sword was greeted by his opponents with a clatter and the sound of metal on metal echoed through their eardrums. Battling, they moved around the room, Philippe shielded himself behind a chair, fighting over the top but Erik used his foot to hook it away and then charged towards Philippe, aiming his weapon directly for Philippe's stomach. Philippe was too slow with his sword. He was forced to block the side of Erik's sword with his arm.

He yelped with pain as Erik stepped back, his sword glistening red along the top edge.

The blood that now dribbled along Philippe's arm was dark, it was a deep colour, almost maroon as it made it's way to the back of his hand. It looked like the river as it was a night, shining in the gentle glow of the fire, yet not nearly as unspoiled. Philippe glanced at his arm, his eyes watering with the pain, he flexed the muscles in his foreman and winced. Anger bubbled visibly on his face and he swung his sword hard at Erik, catching his hip with the flat edge of the sword.

Erik stepped back, it hurt, but didn't cut. Philippe swung again and Erik ducked under his weapon, spinning around to hit Philippe in the back of the head with the handle of his sword. He had learned many times that there was more than one way to use a rapier. Philippe fell forward, pain shooting through his skull as he plummeted towards the cold floor. He landed on his knees but somehow clung to his sword.

Erik ran towards him and brought his sword down and as Philippe managed to roll to the side, Erik's weapon crashed down to the floor next to his body. He kicked for Erik's feet and knocked him off balance, just long enough for him to struggle back to his own feet and move away. There was still blood coming from his leg and he took a quick glance at the floor before he backed away from Erik. He had left blood in his place, pools of it, and he was beginning to feel weak.

Erik whirled around quickly to face Philippe, he stared at him, his eyes burning into his rival. They stood, staring at each other, their bodies tense and alive, adrenaline forcing it's way through their pores, the war in the room was raising in heat, the stakes were high for both men.

They circled around, Erik's back now to the fire, he gripped the sword tightly.

This was life or death.

For _both_ of them and Philippe was well aware that Erik now had the upper hand, his aching body and throbbing thigh told him that much. He had no doubt that Erik would kill him and now the only answer was to somehow get to that point first.

Philippe slashed at Erik's body, causing Erik to hop backwards, as Erik did move back so did Philippe, away from his enemy. Then he reached down to his belt, dug his hand under his open shirt and pulled out a pistol.


	52. Cries in the Night

**A/N: Thank you for all of the reviews. Intensity was what I was aiming for but it's difficult to write 'action-y' type scenes. **

**Ahonelesspirate: Your review made me laugh out loud. I was in such a rush to get this sent to my e-mail account from work that I sent the unedited copy. That line actually reads **_'They fought like bears, aggressive and unrelenting, around the room. Erik was light on his feet as always but Philippe, as stocky as he was, somehow stayed with him. Their swords were touching, hitting…' _**please accept my apologies!**

**Also, do you think Raoul's permission to kill him means anything to Erik? Perhaps Erik is playing…**

**Modesty: Dark Erik is good! Lol, have you updated your fic yet? Thanks for the review.**

**Undermyangels: You're just going to have to keep reading!**

**Hadracones: I've tried to rectify some of the damage done in the original phantom… Raoul is not all that bad, in fact, I've tried to make him come across as more respectable in these last chapters. He now understands almost all of whats been going on. He's angry and wouldn't you be? Thank you for the lovely compliments and for taking the time to review!**

**Pertie: It is poor form but what do you expect? Lol! Has Philippe shown any form at all so far? I must take this opportunity to apologise for making Philippe's character the way he is, to his fans I AM sorry but I thought this was a good use of him!**

**Queensarah: Thank you for the review. I mentioned in an earlier authors note that Raoul had more to him than he first appeared. I think it's important for us all to remember that Erik and Raoul DO have something in common… Christine.**

**Nabira: lol it's a good job I don't get many reviews, I'd have no time to fit you all on and I do like to thank everyone individually for the time they have taken to read my story and to give me some feedback so thank you kindly for your review and please stick with me!**

**Chapter 52- Cries in the Night.**

Raoul stalked carefully around the side of the house, remaining near to the wall and keeping Antoinette Giry behind him, but close. The night was too dark for him to see well in, the moon was comforting itself behind the blanket of the clouds, and so a lot of the time he was relying on his hearing until his eyes had chance to refocus. It was going a lot slower than he hoped, than he needed. He knew that Christine was probably still in danger.

Vomit rose in his throat and he swallowed it back down, trying not to gag on the texture and taste. Antoinette had calmed down but was still visibly upset, however, she understood what was at stake now. It was the reason she had come out here in the first place and had sent Henry to speak to him. Raoul was angry that they hadn't told him sooner and only a part of him understood why. It was his wife, his world and they didn't tell him what was happening. He was angry for all of this, part of him wanted to blame them but he knew that really, it wasn't there fault. The part he wanted to blame them for most was his mistake. That mistake was made in not believing Christine.

He had been almost overwhelemed by the explanations that came pouring from Henry, about Christine, about Madame Giry and about himself. The revelation that Henry was some sort of official and also the Phantom of the Opera's younger sibling, had gone some way to explaining their secrecy and if Raoul was honest, it was what had shocked him most of all.

Still, he was angry.

He used that anger now, his feelings towards Antoinette Giry, towards Henry, towards the Phantom and then, his feelings for Christine. He used all of these emotions, all of the mixed feeling, to push him forward. To find her and give him the strength he had lost lately.

His anger towards Philippe, however, was his real driving force. He had no idea what was happening in the house, his estimations of the phantom were high and he had no doubt that Philippe would either come out seriously hurt or he would not come out at all.

He edge forward.

Voices stopped him.

Laughter.

He peered carefully around the wall, holding his arm out behind him to protect Antoinette. He could see three guards, sitting on the ground in a circle, talking and laughing. And then he could see Christine, dirt caking her face, her hair covered in mud as she lay tied with ropes on the floor in the centre of the guard's circle. Raoul closed his eyes briefly, taking a deep breath, _compose yourself._

He turned to Antoinette and smiled, it looked forced but it was the best he could do. She returned it sadly.

'Wait here,' he whispered, reaching down into his boot. 'Take this, stay here, be careful.'

He handed her a small dagger, beautifully polished and gleaming even in the very little light they had. She knew that it was a family heirloom. He touched her hand gently and nodded at her, to which she responded with a soft sigh, clinging to the dagger like it was her last hope she nodded to tell him she would be fine.

Visibly he composed himself. He stood up straight, smoothed his hair, buttoned his shirt and straightened his back, with one last look at the ballet mistress he stepped out of the blackness and walked calmly towards the guards.

At the sound of his feet approaching the guards leapt up, two of them pulling out their weapons and turning to face him and the other lifting Christine to her feet and starting to talk away with her.

'Halt!' he shouted, his voice booming in the dark night. He stood up perfectly straight, his shoulders wide and proud. They squinted and immediately the guard closest to him dropped his weapon and bowed his head. The third guard had turned to face him, still holding Christine's tiny arm in his burly hand.

Raoul walked further out of the darkness.

'Vicomte,' said the first guard, his head still bowed.

'Claude,' Raoul said, his voice framed with authority. The guard straightened himself and looked at the man next to him. Guard number two, who Raoul recognised as Thierry.

'Christine,' said Raoul, holding his free hand out to her. She was nearly twenty paces away from him. She glanced up at the guard who was holding her arm and tugged but he didn't let go. Instead he looked at Thierry for advice. Raoul racked his brains for his name… tall, muscular… Patrik.

Thierry shook his head firmly from side to side.

'No,' he said and glared at Raoul.

'Let her go,' said Raoul, keeping his voice low. Thierry shook his head again.

'I gave you an order,' he said, looking at him and moving forward slowly. Patrik was still holding Christine's arm tightly.

'As did Comte de Changy,' he said, turning to scowl at Patrik.

'Please, Thierry,' said Claude, who was now close to Raoul but had his back to him. 'This is wrong.'

'No,' Thierry said firmly, looking back at Patrik. 'Get moving.' He said, pointing to Christine.

'I'm warning you,' said Raoul, gripping his dagger firmly in the palm of his hand. His body went rigid as his pulse raced.

'What?' said Thierry, almost laughing. 'With _that_?'

Thierry scowled once more before bounding towards Raoul, his sword out in front of him, ploughing towards the vicomte. He was gaining ground, and Raoul hardened his clutch on the dagger, made his stance firm and took in a mouthful of oxygen.

But Thierry never made it to Raoul.

A sickening cry filled the air as Claude slid out in front of Thierry and stopped him with his sword. Raoul blinked in disbelief as he realised that he could see the tip of the weapon protruding through Thierry's back, with blood dripping onto the guard's shoulder blade.

He swallowed hard.

'Thank you,' said Raoul, trying to keep his voice level as he turned to Claude, whose green eyes were softened by sadness as he lay his friend on the ground and withdrew his sword.

His death had been almost instant.

'I'm sorry,' said the guard. 'I knew it was wrong, all of this… but my orders… I had to do it, you weren't there for me to ask… please… I need my job… I've always been faithful… I...'

'It's okay,' Raoul said holding his hand up with a small nod. He smiled slightly as he glanced back over at Christine and Patrik.

'Christine,' Raoul said, moving towards her. Patrik relinquished his grip on her arm and she stepped away from him, towards her husband.

He looked at her, she was streaked with mud and tears, her hair not the soft brown it usually was but blackening from the soil. He wanted to reach out and touch her but was afraid that she would pull away from him, scared that she was no longer interested in his promises. After all he had promised to protect and look what had happened.

'Christine,' he said, his voice so hoarse that it didn't sound like his own. 'I'm so sorry.'

She looked at him, standing only a few steps away now and then looked around her. He knew who she was searching for.

'Where are they?' she asked, watching his eyes.

'Inside,' he said quietly. 'Your… friend and Philippe…'

'You left them together?'

'Yes…' he said, his voice soft.

'Are you crazy?' she said, not angry but confused. Raoul looked at her, knowing that her concern was not for Philippe or what might be done to him but rather for the phantom and what he might do himself.

'I…' he began and realised there was very little he could say. He took a deep breath, his sadness obvious. 'There's so much to explain, Christine, so much, but for now all I can say is that I need you to know that I'm truly, truly sorry.'

'It's okay,' she said, relenting and moving forward, wrapping her arms around him tightly she whispered. 'Thank you for saving me.'

Raoul smiled, with sorrow as well as relief, but before he could open his mouth to tell Christine that her statement wasn't strictly true a gut wrenching shot rang out through the air.

He spun around to face the house, his heart pounding hard in his chest, eyes wide with fear.

Everything became deathly still, even the wind seemed to calm, before an eerie silence crept around them. A few glimmers of light came from the sky, from the moon, but it was the soul shattering sound of Christine's heart broken screams echoing around them that finally broke the silence.


	53. Pivot

**A/N: Okay, this one needed to be a short chapter, so apologies now!**

**Pertie: It's okay, lol, you can keep your cats but I'm not sure you'll be any more impressed with the end of this chapter! Thanks for the review.**

**Undermyangels: I promise you more on Erik and Henry, I just don't think that in this madness is the time to fill you in on their history. By the way- that chapter is already written.**

**Modesty: Thank you for the review. I'm looking forward to your update but I'll probably have to read the whole thing again to get myself back with it!**

**Nabira: I'm sorry for the cliff hanger… lol thanks very much for the review!**

**Chapter 53- Pivot**

Antoinette ran out from the shadows, the gun shot still ringing through her aching ears. She bolted towards Christine as Christine dropped forward to collapse onto her knees. When she got there she threw her arms around the young vicomtess and pulled her tight to her body, she too felt tears build in her eyes and she battled hard against her own emotions.

'Shh,' she murmured to Christine, kissing her hair. 'It could have been anything… anything…'

She lied.

Choked on her own words.

She knew that Erik didn't carry a pistol.

Would never carry a pistol and would certainly never use a pistol in a sword fight. Her heart ached.

'Erik,' Christine said, over and over. She repeated it. 'Erik, Erik, Erik...'

Antoinette stood and eased Christine carefully to her feet, fighting her own grief back from her body as she tried to comfort Christine.

But there _was_ no comforting Christine.

Antoinette felt Raoul's gentle but massive hand on her shoulder and she turned her eyes to gaze at him. She understood what he must be feeling watching his wife so aggrieved for another man but Raoul was truly one of a kind. He moved Antoinette to the side carefully and placed his arms around his wife in an attempt to offer her some comfort.

At least now I know his name, he thought, holding Christine as closely as she would allow him to.

Christine let Raoul to hold her for a moment, her murmured sobs still escaping, she was still crying Erik's name. He tried to stroke her hair but she moved away, pushed her arms out in front of her and nudged Raoul's body away from hers. The fresh tears glistened as the moon came from behind the clouds and hit them. They lit her face like stars.

She looked at him and then to Madame Giry before she turned on her heel and bolted for the house, Antoinette shook her head at Raoul who for a minute stood in shock before making chase. He caught her less than twenty paces from the front door and grabbed her by the shoulders, spinning her around to face him. He stared into her eyes, the intensity glowing in both of their souls.

'Christine,' he said firmly and she shook her head from side to side. 'Stop, _I'll_ go in.'

'No,' she said, her voice like rock, matching the authority in his tone. Even through her tears and dry throat it was obvious that this was hers to deal with.

'Christine...' he pleaded but it was too late, she had already turned her back on him and made another run for the house. Raoul followed her in the knowledge that he wouldn't be able to stop her and the best he could hope for was that the scene was not too horrific.

As he reached the door he realised that in his wildest imagination he could never have thought of anything quite this horrendous.


	54. Chaos

**Chapter 54- Chaos **

Raoul stared.

His eyes were fixed to the room and what lay before him.

He wasn't expecting this.

His eyes drifted around the expanse of the room, the smoke from the oven had slowed to a wispy haze across the kitchen, the room was hot and reeked of blood, it's metallic stench attacking them as they walked in.

The blood he _had_ expected.

It was everywhere.

From near to the door, to the walls, to the floor, to the kitchen. Its harsh red of all different shades was plastered to every part of the room, there was barely a section without a droplet.

In fairness, he hadn't expected quite this much.

Ahead of him the phantom, whose name he had now learned was Erik, lay propped against the wall, blood pouring from his left shoulder as he gripped it tightly. He was wincing with pain as Christine ignored everything else in the room and ran to his side.

The shocking part was the way the fire was blazing, red and oranges pouring out into the room, hot and angry.

It was blazing because of Philippe.

Raoul forced himself to look once more at his brother, lying by the fire.

His clothes were burned, they were charred and black and Raoul dragged his eyes up to Philippe's face.

Which was also burned.

No, that was wrong. it wasn't burned… it was mutilated. His skin was melted down the sides of his face, his eyes were closed and it was obvious that they would remain that way. What wasn't melted or angry red was almost gone completely, almost burned down to the bone. His nose was pushed in where the heat had obviously arrived first, it must have been pushed into the hot coals at the base of the fire and his lips were stretched and sore.

His arms were the same, They were scarlet in colour and pitted and taut across his visible bones, the hairs were singed away, included the hair on his head where now only remained a few clumps of brown fur. The clothes that weren't falling off, charred to the point where they could cling to nothing, were melted into his chest.

It was an awful, dreadful sight.

But more horrific than all of this was the fact that Philippe was still alive.

* * *

Christine fell to her knees next to Erik, who was lying with his back to the wall, hand on his chest. He groaned softly, his face washed to a deathly pale. She touched his forehead and felt his temperature. He was boiling hot, sweat poured from his brow, his face was glistening in the light of the blazing fire.

'Erik…' she whispered and he blinked his eyes open slowly.

'Christine,' he choked and she wanted to hold him.

'What happened?'

'He shot me…' he whispered as his eyes closed again.

'Erik!' she shouted and he forced his eyes open again, her heart thumped hard in her chest and she gripped his wrist. Antoinette scurried over with a think cloth covered in some sort of lotion, she knelt by his other side and applied the material to her wound. She leaned his forward and looked at his shoulder blade.

'The bullet hasn't exited,' she said simply, and pressed on the wound. Erik winced.

'What does that mean?' Christine asked, still holding tight to Erik's hot wrist.

'It means I need to help him,' Antoinette said, glancing up at Christine. For once her eyes were soft with sadness and her demeanour was apologetic. 'I… Christine, you have to know that …' she stopped, there really was no easy way to say this. 'He will probably die.'

Christine looked at her and swallowed hard, she closed her eyes and a tear squeezed out through her eye lashes. Antoinette reached out and rubbed her arm gently.

'Erik…' Christine said and again he forced his eyes open. 'What happened in here… talk to me… tell me…' she said, choking on her sobs. 'Stay with me…'

'I…' he murmured, his breathing was laboured and he was struggling to open his eyes. 'We were fighting… swords… Philippe drew a… a pistol and shot at me.' He coughed, spat blood. 'Hit me… came over… lying on my back… he looked down… going to shoot me…'

Christine ran her hand along his forearm, trying to make him well, praying that she could make him well, that he would just stand up and fool everyone again. But the blood was real. His pain was real.

This wasn't how it was supposed to be.

'I…' he spluttered, every movement a painful effort. 'Didn't want to die without…' he took in a sharp breath and coughed it back out again. 'I kicked him and he… he landed in the fire…I… I didn't want to die, Christine…'

'Shh,' she whispered, as she brought his hand to her lips.

'No…' he said, struggling to get his words out. His face was getting paler. 'I didn't want to die… without… telling you…. I love you.'

Christine stared at him, her eyes filled with tears as she dropped her face into her hands and allowed the sobs to shake her body. Her shoulders quivered as she cried, tears slipping through her fingers and running down her wrists.

'No,' she said softly.' You'll be fine…'

'Christine…' he said, his voice hoarse. 'I won't be fine… I'm sorry.'

'No… Erik…' she said. He managed to hold his arm up and touch her face before it became to heavy and fell back into his lap.

'Go…' he said softly, he was looking over her shoulder. She turned around. Erik had been looking at Raoul. 'Go…' he repeated.

'Erik…' she said, in an attempt to protest.

'Antoinette will stay with me,' he managed to say but his voice was getting gradually quieter. 'You must go… with your husband.'

She looked at Raoul, saw the grief washed over his beautiful face. He had stood there, seen his brother, he had watched as his wife comforted and cried for another man. But still he stood there. Waiting.

'Go…' he said again, pushing her hand away from his. Raoul stood still.

'Erik...' she whispered, heart broken. He closed his eyes and said nothing else. Christine stood, taking one look at Antoinette Giry before she turned and walked towards Raoul, who swallowed his hurt and his pride and held his hand out for her to take. She slipped her hand in his, his warmth felt comforting somehow and with a final look at Erik and Antoinette they left the house.

And in her heart Christine knew that she would never return.


	55. Angels in Heaven

**A/N: Thank you for all of the reviews. If I miss anyone, apologies now! I listened to 'Wishing you were somehow here again' when I was writing this chapter.**

**Pertie: lol, really, you can keep the cat. I hope you like this chapter and thank you for the reviews!**

**Queensarah: Thank you for all of your reviews. I've been trying to keep it tense without letting it drag on, I hope that I've succeeded in that. I think the relationship between Madame Giry and Christine is a confused one… they love each other but neither know to what extent until something this terrible draws them together. Thanks again!**

**Ahomelesspirate: Its ok that you haven't reviewed. They are always a bonus but I never EXPECT people to review. Thank you so much for taking the time, as always!**

**Undermyangels: I think I can tell you now that Philippe has lived but this is a far worse fate for him than him dying, I felt that death was too good for him. Too painless. **

**Modesty: Thank you as always for your review! Erik NEEDED to tell her that he loves her still… its not only telling for now but for forever, if that makes sense. It hasn't changed after all that's happened and even on his death bed it was the last thing he wanted her to hear from him.**

**Nabira: Thank you for your review. I hope that the coming chapters don't disappoint you.**

**AngelofMusic: You've been quiet lately, I hope you're well. Thank you for reviewing. I've updated as quickly as I can but I can't promise you an outcome you'll like…**

**Hidracones: Thank you for your review I hope you liked chapter 54 and like this one even more!**

'_There must be an angel with a smile on her face,  
When she thought up that I should be with you.  
But it's time to face the truth,  
I will never be with you.' – You're Beautiful, James Blunt._

**Chapter 55- Angels in Heaven.**

They had travelled home in complete silence, not a word passed between them and Christine stared out of the window, frightened to say what was now felt between them. When they had arrived home he had looked at her carefully, he studied her face before taking her hand and kissing it softly. He didn't need to utter the words that he was sorry, his eyes said it all.

She hoped that her eyes told him the same message.

Instead of calling the maid when they entered the house he walked upstairs and drew her a bath, full of lotions and scented pearls, he made sure that he had poured the water warm but not too hot, carefully warmed her towels by the fire and then left her to bathe. When she was done he helped her to soothe her wounds, holding damp cloths on them and cleaning them carefully. He chose soft cotton clothes and dressed her aching body before leading her to her room and laying her in the warm soft bed. He pulled the blanket gently over her body and he left the room silently.

Christine cried all night.

* * *

Over the next few days he was gentle with her, careful but didn't avoid her. He made sure he was available to her every moment of the day, if she needed something then he would find it, if she needed some space then he gave it. Their conversations slowly developed but still Christine had no explanation of the events that occurred all those nights ago. She knew that the days and weeks had begun to pass by, Erik crossed her mind and consistently decided to stay there. She wept for him almost every night. She and Raoul were not sharing a bed but they were making progress, his soft tones and gentle hands were enough to begin to warm her heart again. 

Sometimes she would want to kiss him, in her chest she wanted to kiss him and often she did. Chastely but still, it was an affection she was unsure would return. His beautiful face was always there for her, he was always a calming influence, when she screamed her nightmares out loud he would run to her side and grip her hand, squeeze it until she was calm. She knew that Raoul loved her.

But still, all she could think of was Erik.

His face haunted her every dream, there wasn't a night where he didn't attack her thoughts and make her wake in cold sweats. In her dreams he would be there, his sparkling blue eyes were focused onto her before blood started to appear on his face and a force started to pull him away. She would try to hang onto him, their fingertips slotted together, but the force was too great and he'd disappear into the distance leaving her screaming his name.

Sometimes when she woke up, she was sick.

In her other dreams he was Erik, he was the phantom of the opera and the man she knew and loved. His eyes would sparkle for the whole dream, from beginning to end, as they drank her in, he would sing to her in that tone that both excited and calmed her at the same time. Sometimes in her dreams he would smile at her, pull her close and every once in a while she would once again feel the tenderness of his lips against hers.

These dreams never lasted long enough.

In the daytime she missed him desperately, if she closed her eyes she could picture him watching her, his mask that brilliant white which had so contrasted the darkness of his hair. She tried not to close her eyes too often but it was hard to resist it, knowing that this was the only way she would ever see his face again.

* * *

Christine rapped softly on the large doors of the Giry house and waited patiently in the warmth of the late summer sun for an answer. The door creaked open some moments later and she was greeted by the welcoming arms of her best friend. 

'Christine,' she whispered, pressing her lips into her friend's hair before guiding her into the house.

'Meg,' Christine replied and a smile formed on her lips. How long had it been since she smiled? 'I've missed you and I'm so sorry I haven't been.'

'I understand,' she said gently, touching her arm.

It was just as Christine was about to apologise for Meg's loss that she heard a male voice from the living. She didn't recognise the voice but the glow in Meg's cheeks told her that there was no bad news for her at all.

There was no loss.

'I want you to meet someone.' Meg said.

Meg led her friend through to the living quarters and smiled at the gentleman with the dark hair and light eyes sitting, bandaged, by the fire. Christine looked from Meg to him and then slowly back to Meg.

'Henry,' she said softly. 'Say hello to Christine.'

'Christine,' he said, leaping to his feet and taking her hand softly. 'At last.'

'I thought...' she said but he stopped her.

'So did I,' He said. 'I thought I was dead too. The pain was terrible... but as I fell to Erik and closed my eyes something made me stay. It was a miracle, like an angel and I heard songs in the background.' He closed his eyes. 'I heard music but something told me that it wasn't from the gates of heaven... it was Erik... singing to me like he used to.'

'Like he used to?' Christine asked, confused, and Henry frowned in disbelief. Why didn't she know?

As Meg opened her mouth to explain to Christine her mother walked in and held her hand up to stop her. Meg obediently closed her mouth, dropping her head slightly in understanding.

'Christine,' she said, her voice contained a softness she barely recognised. 'Perhaps,' she said, turning to Meg. 'Christine and I should go for a walk.'

Meg nodded, assuring, before hugging her friend and with a soft smile ushering her towards Madame Giry.

* * *

They walked to the fields in silence, the park was busy even in the late evening because the summer had given Paris warm nights. It was Madame Giry who broke the air of quiet between them. 

'This may seem like an odd question,' she began, continuing to walk. 'But how are you?'

'I'm improving,' was the only thing that Christine could think of. She glancing at the tall shape of the ballet mistress next to her, knowing that she too must be feeling grief.

'I'm glad,' Giry replied. 'How are you and Raoul doing?'

'As a couple Madame?' she asked and Antoinette nodded. 'We're also improving but I need to be honest with you... it's been so hard'

'I can only imagine what you've both bee feeling,' she said softly, walking on. 'How is he coping with all of this?'

'He hasn't really mentioned it,' Christine said, thinking of Raoul. 'It must be killing him inside.'

'Hmm,' she sounded like she understood. As they reached the end of the field Madame Giry turned to Christine and placed her arms around her, squeezed her gently and then pulled away. 'I need to run into the market for a second, I should be less than ten minutes if you'd like to wait here.'

'Okay,' said Christine.

'You can go back if you'd like,' she said. 'I just thought you might like to enjoy the weather.'

'No,' Christine said, looking around her at the beautiful green of the fields, the slowly setting sun in the sky and birds flying above the trees. 'I'll wait.'

'I need to hurry because they will be packing away now,' Antoinette said as she backed away. 'I'll be back in ten minutes.'

Christine smiled and nodded at her then watched her walk away and move around the corner of the house ahead of them. As she disappeared into the distance Christine turned and once again looked around her, at the beautiful sights around her, at the things she had never really stopped to notice before. She walked a little further, her feet drifted over the softness of the lush grass and she watched as mothers with their children walked by, happy, smiling and enjoying the summer.

She listened to horses hooves tapping at the floor and she closed her eyess, she never noticed how wonderful a sound it was until today. The sound gradually got louder and she walked further and was startled when she realised that the horse was behind her. Before she could turn around the rider spoke.

'Henry is my brother,' the rider said and Christine closed her eyes and felt her head lighten. The horse came up beside her and she look at it's face, black and white... the white covering the left side. Christine looked up to Erik. 'Hello Christine.'

'Erik...' she whispered and wasn't sure if it was to herself or to him. She took his outreached hand and let him pull her up to the horse, she sat in front of him and she noticed that he was riding one handed. His shoulder wasn't yet healed. The stallion walked on, his hooves clicking gently into the dirt, he carried them with ease.

'Henry? Everything…' she said, leaning her back into Erik's body so that the movement of the horse didn't shake her off its back. 'Tell me everything...'


	56. Lullaby

**A/N: Lots more explanations to come and then my ending… I hope no one is too disappointed. This chapter is not exciting but it is Erik and Christine… they have yet to broach the subject of Raoul.**

**Thank you for ALL of the reviews. I'm sure I don't need to tell any of you how much it means to receive so much feedback from readers. When this story is over I will be taking the time to read a story (if there is one posted) by everyone who has reviewed this story. It might take me a while to get to yours but I promise you that I will…**

**Individual replies next chapter xx**

'_My brother is a brilliant artist. His oil paintings are really beautiful. And he was the one that taught me what to see - how to see. Colours, lights. And how lights can be so musical._ '  
- **Joan Chen speaking of her actual brother but I somehow thought it a fitting description for Henry… for Henry in his relationship with Erik. I hope you like this chapter.**

**Perhaps, like Raoul, Erik has grown… perhaps his world is beginning to fill with colour?**

**Read on.**

**Chapter 56- Lullaby**

Christine felt him, she felt his breathing and his body behind her, she heard his voice, soft and low, the gentle voice that had soothed her so many times. She had seen him, sitting on his horse, she was sitting on it now… herself, felt it moving beneath her in the setting summer sun but still… she didn't quite believe it. Dream or no dream she didn't want it to end so she simply listened.

'Henry discovered the existence of a brother on our mother's death bed,' Erik began, controlling the horse's reigns with his hand. 'In some sort of guilt ridden moment…' _many years too late_, '…She had confessed all to an utterly astounded and very young Henry.'

Erik's mother had described his face in all of the gory detail, told of how she had ridden of him once Erik's father had died, she had sent him to the freak show where he belonged. Erik shuddered at the memory and Christine felt it through her own body.

'Did you know about him?' she asked, trying to look over her shoulder, she wanted to see him… was he still there?

'I knew of Henry's father… like my own, he was an honourable and good man.' He thought for a second. 'How he ended up with the evil that was our mother, only the Devil knows.' He said with a smirk. 'Henry had been brought up not by our mother but by his own father… I think it a shame that we didn't grow up together but as I'm sure you're aware there are a few years between Henry and I, I think I was thirteen when he was born...'

Of course, Erik knew about Henry since the day Henry was born. It would be foolish for anyone, even Antoinette Giry, to believe that he never left the cellars of the opera house and that he had never been back to look in on the woman who had abandoned him. One night he had actually seen an infant in the cot that Erik used to sleep in when his father was alive.

The infant, around four years old, was the picture of perfection. He had brown hair and his skin was the softest, pinkest silk. Erik glanced over, after entering through the window, and watched the child sleep. Then Erik had resented him. He resented him for all the love and attention he was given, he resented him for his perfect face and he resented him because no one wanted to give him away.

It didn't last.

'Night after night, before you came to the opera, I would wander down to my old home, under the cover of dark and watch Henry sleep.' He sighed softly and Christine, for a moment, thought that he sounded sad. 'I watched him grow through that window, I watched him change.'

Christine simply nodded.

'When he was seven his father died,' Erik squeezed his eyes closed. 'And he was left with our mother… who was at best useless,' his tone became harsh. 'She left him alone a lot… often went out with callers of an evening leaving poor Henry to fend for himself _and_ cope with the loss of his father,'

He stopped and thought for a moment, felt sorrow well inside his body as he remembered the look of pure grief on Henry's face when he had been given the news of his father's death.

'I'm not a monster, Christine,' Erik said and she reached down and stroked his leg gently. He was there. This was real.

'I know, Erik,' she said softly and he couldn't resist the urge to kiss her hair. Although he couldn't see her face he knew that she was smiling.

'So, I went to him of a night, as I always did, but this time I made myself known,' he said quietly. 'I sang.'

'I…' Christine said. 'It must have been comforting for him, Erik, it must have helped him so much.' She thought for a moment. 'It always helped me.'

'He was afraid,' he said.

'So was I,' she replied, and he smiled.

'At first,' he said and this time Christine smiled.

'Was it the same for Henry?'

'Yes,' the memory entered his mind. 'He asked who I was.'

'And what did you tell him?'

'I told him that I was his friend,' Erik said with a gentle shrug, 'And that I would come as often as I could to help him sleep,'

Christine allowed a smile to form on her lips, slowly her shock at seeing Erik was subsiding and being replaced by a story that finally made her forget that Erik had killed so many times. She knew that Erik was a good man, with dreams and aspirations and with a heart, it was just that sometimes Erik wasn't sure how he should express himself.

He had never been given an opportunity to practice.

'How often did you go? She asked, breaking the small silence that had fallen between then.

'Every night,' he said, without hesitation. 'I went every night for four years.'

Christine thought for a second.

'Until he was 11?' she asked.

'Yes,' he answered. 'Until he got himself some friends at school, became popular.'

'He was schooled, then?' she said, surprised.

'Very well,' Erik replied. 'His father left him a fund and he _chose_ to go to school.'

Christine smiled.

Erik had prompted him to learn, that was obvious to her, Erik had had been Henry's guide in life and in education and probably in many, many other things.

'Did you tell him your name?' she asked as Erik pulled the horse up and hopped off before helping Christine down to the floor. They walked along side the horse and continued to talk.

'No,' he said. 'He simply called me friend.'

'Did you still visit him?' she said, curious and overwhelmed by the story.

'Of course,' he said. 'Whenever he asked me to and sometimes I would just check in on him…' his mind wandered to his past for a minute, he remembered Henry growing into a handsome man, turning into the man Erik had always wanted to be but rather than resent him Erik had swelled with pride. '…just, you know, to make sure.'

She smiled.

'How old was he when your mother died?' she asked, glancing up at Erik as they walked through the wooded area.

'Eighteen… it was not long before you moved to the opera,' he said, thinking about it carefully.

'Does it make you sad that your mother died?' she asked, unable to contain the question as she watched Erik's thoughtful face.

'It makes me sad that I wasn't there to see it,' he said coldly. Christine shuddered at the sound of his voice.

'I'm sorry…' she began and he stood still and looked at her.

'Don't be,' he said. 'It's not you that I'm angry with.'

She nodded.

'Henry tried to find me but had no luck, he got as far as the circus and reached a dead end as Antoinette had helped me to escape and no one knew where I was.'

'Why didn't you tell him?' she asked, curious.

'I had stopped visiting,' he said sadly. 'He was growing, becoming more intelligent and he wanted to know who I was, where I lived...' Erik sighed. 'Henry was no longer content with hearing my voice, he wanted to see me.'

Christine understood and remembered what her eagerness to see him had ended in.

'I missed him,' he said. 'Christine, he welcomed me in to his life and he loved me… it was a very peculiar situation for me.'

'I'm sorry…'

He shushed her by placing his finger gently to her lips and looking into her eyes.

'No apologies, not with us Christine, not anymore… there's no need to apologise anymore,' he said softly. She nodded her head, again she understood.

'He found me around three years ago,' Erik smiled. 'He was walking through the Opera Populaire, investigating _me…' _he laughed gently. 'The irony was certainly not lost on me but still, I was proud of him… he was an intelligent man with a well paid, important job… I was proud…' he stopped. 'I _am _proud.'

Christine stared at him.

'He was investigating you?' she said slowly. 'Is he a police officer?'

'More of a spy,' Erik said, smiling.

'And he found you,'

'Yes,' Erik said and grinned. 'He's a very good spy.'

Christine couldn't help but return Erik's smile. Was he as happy as he sounded?

'He heard me talking to Antoinette Giry in the manager's office,' he said, and closed his eyes. 'I'll never forget that day… for as long as I live…'

Christine watched as his eyes became damp with tears. Erik swiped them away and forced a smile.

'He came in, so quietly, not even I heard him,' he said, squeezing his eyes shut. 'He had heard me talking with Antoinette…' Christine listened carefully, watching the emotion on Erik's face, amazed by the man standing before her. 'Rather than shouting at me to halt or arresting me… and I'm not sure why he said it, perhaps it was that he was lost for words or that he simply wanted me to know that he knew who I was… but he said _… 'Erik… sing me a lullaby._''


	57. Sane in Insane Places

**A/N: Wow, thanks for all of the reviews!**

**Ahomelesspirate: I try really hard weith the last lines of each chapter… sometimes, like the last one, I've thought about it from the start of the story. I had to have some happy in the story… they are both alive because they both have a reason to live…**

**Hidracones: I agree with you about things just… 'happening' I wanted to make it believable and I hope I achieved that.**

**Undermyangel: You're ahead of me again. This chapter is about Philippe! Lol I'm glad you liked the last chapter and I hope it answered some of your questions.**

**Queensarah: I like angst so I couldn't tell you which way this will go… thank you, as always, for the review. The line you quoted was me making sure Erik was Erik… he may be nice but he's not soft.**

**Emmakins: Thank you for the review! I'm glad you like it though I'm sad to say it is definitely drawing to a close. There will be two maybe three more chapters.**

**Modesty: Thank you for the reviews and I'm sure that you'll update in your own good time. These chapters have been written for a while which is why the updates have been so quick in coming.**

**Angelofmusic: I think it's important that Erik has other people and not just Christine. Rather than handing him over, Philippe remembered what Erik had done for him… thank you for your reviews.**

**Pertie: Thank you for your review and I'm very glad that I didn't disappoint you. **

**Nabira: Thank you for your review… I'm glad you've enjoyed the story so far. I'm just sad that it's nearly finished.**

**Did I miss anyone?**

**Chapter 57- Sane in Insane Places.**

Raoul walked into the room quietly and stood by the side of the slim bed, glancing down at the bandaged face of his brother. His red hands were on top of the covers, the nurse had just taken the bandages off to let the sores breath before she returned to put fresh on. He looked like raw meat.

Raoul searched his consciousness for guilt, some feeling for his brother, who was all but dead lying in front of him.

He found none.

His hazel eyes looked at Philippe from head to toe and back up again, the sight didn't make him wince or wish to look away, it simply made him shake his head. He was surprised to feel so little sympathy for someone he had grown up with, someone who was really his own flesh and blood. But Raoul was a good man, at heart, he was a good man and in his eyes Philippe was not. Raoul supposed that he had received what he deserved although it was not a deliberate fate.

He pulled up a seat and sat on it next to the bed, it was hard to work out if Philippe was awake or asleep because his eyes always looked closed and his breathing was always a wheeze. The manager of the hospital walked in and Raoul stood, extending his hand for the man.

'Jerome Buckley,' he said, his voice was calm and even. He had caring eyes and a soft hand, which Raoul shook firmly. 'Vicomte de Chagny, I apologise that we haven't had the opportunity to meet sooner. I'm so sorry for what has happened to your brother, I'm just glad that no one else was injured in the barn fire.'

'Thank you,' Raoul said nodding. 'It's a pleasure to meet you.'

'I just need to get the details of the fire correct for the paper work, if you wouldn't mind, victome?'

'Please, call me Raoul,' he said, sitting back down as Jerome pulled up a seat next to him.

'Okay,' he said and pulled a pen out of his pocket. 'I understand the fire was in a barn you own on the outskirts of Paris, is that correct?'

'Yes,' Raoul said.

'Just tell me if any of these details are incorrect,' he said. 'I won't keep you for long.'

'Of course,' Raoul nodded. Jerome began to write on his pad of paper.

'The officials who were sent with Philippe to the hospital stated that they had rushed to the incident, controlled it and found your brother near to the exit,' he said slowly. 'There was no other person involved and Philippe was simply closing the barn up for the evening. He had lit a light at the entrance to the premises which had fallen over while he was checking the barn.'

Raoul nodded to assure Jerome that so far the details he had been given by the Government officials were correct and that it was alright for him to continue reading and writing.

'By the time he got back to the centre of the room from the back, the front area was viciously ablaze and spreading rapidly due to the hay, is that right?' he said, looking at Raoul.

'Yes, as far as I know,' Raoul said. 'All I can tell you is the information I was given by the people who investigated the incident.'

'I understand,' Jerome said. 'If I may… he tried to run to the back of the barn but he had locked it so securely that there was no possible escape, by which point the fire was spreading all around him.'

'That seems about right,' said Raoul, with what he hoped looked like a sorrowed smile.

'Eventually, from what the Government doctor has said, smoke inhalation took over and he passed out?'

'Yes,' replied Raoul, shaking his head.

'The thing is…' Jerome said and Raoul held his breath. 'I think it may have affected some of your brother's… brain cells…'

'How do you mean?' Asked Raoul, genuinely confused. Jerome looked at him and thought for moment, as if trying to decide how would be best to phrase what he was about to say.

'Well,' said Jerome. 'He keeps… saying that the Phantom did it… you know, the Phantom of the Opera…' Jerome paused before looking at Raoul apologetically. 'Of course you know, I'm terribly sorry… perhaps I shouldn't have mentioned it.'

'No,' Raoul said quickly. 'No, please don't be sorry. I'm glad you told me.' He stopped for a moment and then glanced at Jerome thoughtfully. 'What is the best course of action for this?'

'He gets very excitable,' said Jerome. 'I think, well, I think it possibly best that we keep him sedated.'

Raoul stared at him before nodding.

'I think that's probably best,' Raoul said gently. 'I witnessed the Phantom's death myself.'

'Yes,' said Jerome, nodding in understanding. 'As did a lot of the Parisian community.'

They sat there looking at Philippe's figure under the soft blanket for a moment and again Raoul searched his heart for guilt.

Again there was none.

'Please tell me to stop if I am being insensitive,' Jerome said quickly. 'But I'm… curious about the Phantom of the Opera… I realise, monsieur, that this isn't one of your favourite subjects but if you could do me the favour of at least telling me what he was like… I would appreciate it.'

Raoul looked at the manager carefully.

'I mean…' Jerome began. 'If you don't mind… was he just a normal man?'

'He was…' Raoul began. 'He was nothing like a normal man, monsieur.'

Raoul could see from the look on Jerome's face that he believed that Raoul was referring to the Phantom's famous face… or the fact that he had murdered many men. He was, of course, incorrect.

Raoul was referring the phantom as nothing like a normal man because that was the truth… he really was nothing like a normal man.

He far surpassed many normal men that Raoul had ever met, both in intelligence and ability to astound.

And also, in his ability to love.


	58. Closed Hearts

**A/N: Sorry for the slow updates. This chapter was tough for me… rewritten several times. The next few updates might be slow as we're drawing to a close and I really don't want to get this wrong.**

**Thank you to everyone who has reviewed the last few chapters. At the moment I haven't got time to reply to each person individually. I will in the next chapter. **

**Thank you once again and please read… please review… please enjoy**

'_Baby, I don't want to fall in love with you  
I try, try, try but I can't get around the truth  
Please don't say my name, give this heart a break  
I don't want to make the same mistake but it's too late  
I'll leave on the light' – Bon Jovi – Open All Night_

**Chapter 58- Closed Hearts…**

He spoke to her like he hadn't seen her for years not wasting a single word, giving every one of them meaning or emphasis. To Christine It felt like they had loved each other all of their lives. She closed her eyes, letting the breeze sway her gently into Erik's body and she wondered if, perhaps, when she was young she had loved him in her dreams.

She thought so.

He told her about the events that unfolded all those nights ago, he described to her, in the way only he could, the sword fight. What Philippe had said, what he said and didn't say. Erik told Christine the way he felt, the way he was afraid but not because he would die but because he would never see her again.

Then, when he told her of them moment Philippe drew his pistol Christine gasped and pushed her body into his, needing to feel that he was still there, with her.

She felt so young, felt so good… she felt so alive.

Erik then explained what had eventually happened to Philippe, about the hospital and the story that Henry's colleagues had given when they arrived. When Erik slowly retold the moment he found out that Henry was alive she let the stream of tears she had been holding back trickle down her cheeks.

Antoinette Giry had saved Erik's life by being what she had always been to him, caring and firm. She had forced him to keep his eyes open and not surrender to his body's will to give in. She had cleaned the wound, removed the bullet and burned the flesh and skin to stop the bleeding and to prevent infection. After once more ensuring that it was clean she had bandaged it and told him that he must take care of it.

Erik had been living with the Giry's ever since.

They walked along to the end of the field, the soft wind touching their bodies as they lost themselves in conversation. When Christine turned around to look behind her she didn't recognise the scenery and she wondered how far they had walked.

'I was supposed to be waiting for Madame Giry,' she said suddenly and stopped walking.

Erik glanced at her and then pulled himself up carefully onto his stallion, wincing as the pain shot through his shoulder.

'She knows where you are,' he said and helped her up so that she could sit in front of him. As she nestled herself into the groove of his body Erik took the reigns in front of her and gently nudged the horse forward.

Christine wondered what the horses name was and then she was amazed at the things that crossed her mind when she became nervous.

'How?' she asked, referring to Madame Giry's knowledge of her whereabouts. She asked but shedidn't need to... she already knew the answer

'She brought you to me,' Erik smiled and she nodded her head slowly and let out a small sigh.

She looked around her with the realisation that the night was slowly closing in around them, she knew that soon she would have to go home and wondered what would happen after she did.

Was this real? Had everything that had happened to her over the course of three years real?

They turned the corner closest to the town as they left the park and moved around the streets under the cover of near blackness. Erik's body was warm behind her and it was comforting in the chill of the night. It was remarkable how cold it could get so quickly.

'Christine,' he said, his voice was so quiet she wondered whether she had heard it at all.

'Are you okay?' she asked and she felt his chest heave.

'No,' he said but it wasn't angry, it was gentle.

'Erik...' she said but stopped herself. She knew what was happening as he pulled the horse to the side of the cobblestone road, ending the clicking of its hooves.

'Will you be okay to walk from here?' he asked.

She knew that her home was only around the corner but her heart was far, far away.

'I...' she began. 'Yes.'

He helped her down from his horse before jumping back on and turning him around. Erik glanced down at the shadow of Christine and then he closed his eyes. She watched him as he squeezed them tight, gripped the reigns of the horse in his hand and took a deep breath.

'I'm sorry for all of this, Christine,' he said, letting the air out of his lungs slowly. Suddenly she knew what it was to be hurt by the sound of her own name.

'It's okay,' she said, holding back her heart break as the white of Erik's mask shimmered through her tears. She could barely see him but she knew he was looking at her.

'Will you...' he started but Christine didn't let him finish, she turned on her heels and bolted over the cobbles and around the corner, out of sight.

Erik watched after her shadow, as she disappeared, he knew she was crying and his his heart pulled hard in his chest... he sighed and was only glad that he couldn't hear her sobs.


	59. Open Minds

**A/N: Right!**

**Star Sheep: New reviewer! Thank you very much for all of your reviews. I've enjoyed writing it and glad you've so far enjoyed reading it. **

**Hicdracones: The cover story came to me in a moment of clarity when I was wondering what fate to give to the Comte de Chagny. I thought it quite fitting :-D Thank you for your reviews.**

**Modesty: Thank you as always for your reviews. Have you updated yet?**

**Captain Oblivious: Nice name by the way! And thank you very kindly for your review. I hope you finish reading and the ending is satisfying for you.**

**Emmakins: Glad you like it and thank you for taking the time to review.**

**Angelofmusic: I did mean Henry and I'm sorry about that! Thank you for the review!**

**Ahomelesspirate: Thank you as always! I try hard with the last lines… sometimes its not possible to end a chapter the way you want but sometimes it just pops into my head!**

**Pertie: Sorry for the cliff hangers… a couple more to come as it happens. Stick with me the rides nearly over. Thanks!**

**Kaladena: Thank you for the reviews, keep reading…. I'm doing my best not to disappoint!**

**Nabira: Thanks for the reviews! All of them lol Christine's heart has been breaking from the beginning… on and off, don't you think? Her life has been quite marred with tragedy.**

**Cupid: Thank you for your review, stick with me!**

**Queensarah: Thank you for the very long reviews. You always put so much detail into them. We see a little more of Raoul… in this chapter and the next. It's difficult times all around!**

**If I missed you I'm VERY sorry!**

**Chapter 59- … Open Minds.**

It was the look in his eyes as she walked through the front door that made her stop. They were soft and wet, the sparkle disappearing under the redness. Christine walked to him, sure her eyes didn't look much better, and placed her arms around his neck. She kissed him softly and then with more passion as he responded.

Their bodies pressed together and instantly she lost herself in him, feeling the comfort of his arms wrapped around her.

Raoul closed his eyes and allowed the kiss to envelope him, feeling the warmth of her body and the softness of her lips made him forget, for a moment, his troubles. He ran his hand along her back, there was no sensuality in it, it was simply intended as comfort.

As she pulled away from him and looked into his eyes he knew that now he had to make a decision and that decision would affect the rest of his life.

* * *

'Madame!'

Thud, thump.

Antoinette opened her eyes at the sound of hammering at her door. She looked around her and realised that she had fallen to sleep on the seat by her fire, her legs were hot and she quickly moved them away. She yawned and the banging continued and as she pushed herself to her tired feet she wondered what the commotion was about. She glanced towards the door as she woke herself up, and stood up straight as she caught a glimpse of Henry as he walked to open the front door.

'Madame,'

Antoinette brushed down the front of her gown and carefully neatened her hair before she walked through to her entrance hall where she was greeted by a red and out of breath Christine.

'Madame,' she said, trying to catch her breath, there was sweat on her brow. 'Where is he?'

Antoinette raised her eyebrows and then dropped them again into a frown.

'Please...' Christine pleaded, her eyes begging. 'I need to find him.'

Antoinette looked forward, over Christine's shoulder, at Henry and her daughter who were watching with interest. Then she let her eyes fall back on to the young Vicomtess, who was barely calm enough to stand still.

'He is in Calais,' she said softly, watching Christine's eyes.

'Why?' Christine asked, her throat becoming tighter. 'What's he doing there?'

'He is leaving for England and then from there he will go to America.' Antoinette said gently. 'He wants to start a new life... without this...' she took a breath. '...stigma.'

'When...?' Christine said as a sob caught in her throat, she looked at Meg whose face was fallen with sadness.

'Tomorrow afternoon.' Madame Giry said, in her own eyes she was sorrowful, not only for Christine but also for her life long friend.

'I need to get there,'

Antoinette shook her head.

'I don't think you'll make it,' the ballet mistress said as she stepped past Christine and walked towards the back door. Christine's mouth gaped in shock as she followed her, anger filling her veins.

'So you won't help me?' Christine growled but Antoinette Giry did not react to her tone. 'Madame!'

'I didn't say that,' Antoinette replied, letting Christine follow her to the garden.

'Then why are we wasting time! Madame... please...' Christine cried. 'I need a cab... you said yourself I don't have much time.'

'No,' said Antoinette as she continued to walk. Christine began to cry but, as they walked around to the outhouse and her eyes drifted to what stood in front of her, she suddenly realised that in the end true friends will always come through for you.


	60. Pursuit

**A/N: There will be two or three chapters after this one. I will reply individually to each of you in the next chapter.**

**Thank you ALL!**

'_She's the one that makes me fall  
__Midnight moon shines through it all  
She's the one that makes my dreams  
They call her Mississippi  
But she don't flow to me  
They call her Mississippi  
But she don't flow to me' – Train 'Mississippi' _

**Brownie points to anyone who knows what Oscuridad means.**

**Chapter 60- Pursuit**

The black stallion with the white mask was called Oscuridad.

And Christine was riding him across the French countryside, following Henry  
towards Calais.

Erik had left her Oscuridad in case ... well... just in case.

Suddenly she was glad of all of the riding her father made her do when she was young. The horses hooves were pounding hard on the dry ground, the sound echoing around them and in her ears. Henry led but was closely followed by Christine who was hunched over the front of the horse, allowing it to gallop at it's own speed. They shot past the woodlands on the outskirts of Paris and headed north. Calais was still hours away and Christine knew that they would be lucky to get there before Erik's boat left the next afternoon. She was more than aware that they would need to stop, the horses would need a rest and to water and that there was no way that they could keep up the pace.

It was almost dark and the stars were out, shining above them, breeze touched their bodies and they pushed their horses forward, knowing that delay would be heart break for Christine. As they rode Christine reflected on the evening, on leaving Erik in the street and going back, crying, to Raoul .She thought about the conversation that they had had.

_When she had stepped back from Raoul's warm embrace and looked into his soft eyes, she knew he had something to say. He had taken her by the hand, squeezed it gently in his and led her to the sitting room. He sat first and then invited her to sit at his side, no assumptions, no pressure simply Raoul being who he was. _

The kind, considerate man that he was.

He had turned to face her, taken her hands in his and held them in his lap, then he had looked into her eyes and released a sigh. As he rubbed her hands with his thumbs it had seemed that he was searching for the right words, any words...

'Christine,' his voice had been sweet but sad. She had glanced at him, looked back into his eyes. 'We need to talk about this.'

She nodded, shaking at tear from her jaw. She felt the pressure on her hands as he squeezed them.

'You know...' he began, and he swallowed. 'You know that I love you. You know that, don't you?'

Again she had moved her head, nodding at him... yes, she knew.

'And that I would give you the world if I had it in my possession... if I could buy it...'

She allowed a small smile to cover her lips.

He sighed.

'Where have you been tonight?' he asked, there was no malice in his voice. When Christine had searched his face she was aware that he already knew the answer.

'Erik's alive,' she choked and he nodded, rubbing her hands gently.

'I know,' he said. 'I saw him.'

Christine had stared at him for a moment in shock.

'When?' she asked.

'A few days ago,' Raoul replied. 'I saw him leaving the Giry household... it was late.'

'I...' she began, but Raoul had stopped her.

'I didn't tell you because at the time I couldn't be sure,' he said, his tone was sorrowed, there had been no anger there.

Christine had bowed her head.

'It's okay,' he said and slipped his finger gently under her chin, lifting her eyes back up to meet his. 'I promise... it's okay.'

'Oh Raoul...' she whispered. 'I do love you.'

'I don't doubt that, Christine,' he said softly. 'I never doubt you... not anymore.'

She kissed his fingertips gently, let him cup her face in his strong hands.

'How is it...' he sighed. 'How is it that I can love you so much, so deeply... that I would give you anything in this world and CAN give you the things you dream of... how is it that the one thing I want to give you I can't?'

'What...'

'I can't make you happy, Christine,' He murmured. 'I try so hard yet I know that I can't... I know that it's impossible.'

'You can...' she said but he had simply shook his head.

'No,' his chest heaved. 'I can't. No matter how desperately I want it... while this continues, I can't make you happy.'

Christine had turned away from him, snatching her hands back and letting her body shake with her sobs. Raoul slid his arms around her and pulled her back to him, back into his chest, and he had held her close, kissing her hair. She cried into his body, her tears soaked through his shirt and wet his skin.

'There is something I can do, isn't there?' he whispered into her hair.

She looked up at him through her tears.

'I can let you go,' he said.

'Raoul...'

'Christine...' he said firmly. 'If you stay with me... if we stay together can you honestly tell me that you will be mine.'

'Of course...' she whispered.

'No,' his voice was hard but not unkind. 'Completely mine... can you tell me that you're heart will belong to me and only me, that you won't think of him when it's dark or when you hear music?'

'No...' she murmured, her voice barely audible.

_'Then what choice do I have?' he had asked as he reached out and brushed a tear gently off her cheek. _

'I'm your wife,' she said.

'Yes, you are but you don't have to be...'

'Raoul...'

'Listen to me Christine,' he said. 'I love you... and I need you to be happy.'

'But...'

'And he loves you... as much as I hate that I can't change it.'

Christine wiped her eyes with her hand.

'There are other women Christine,' he said and then continued. 'I would choose you above them all… every one… but if you are not there then there will be other women somewhere for me...'

She nodded, it sounded harsh but she knew in her heart that he wasn't being cruel.

_She knew he was trying to make everything okay. _

'For Erik there is no one else,' he had dropped his head and looked at his hands. 'For him there are no other woman... there is not another woman on this earth that he would ever considering giving his life to... for him there is only you.'

'Raoul...' she said, a tear trickled along her cheek.

'Shh,' he held up his hand. 'I know now that for you there is no other man but him.'

She fell silent, she could hear her own breathing.

'Christine...' he kissed her cheek softly. 'As much as I love you… oh and how I love you… there's a part of me that knows that I could love you for a million years… I could love you for that length of time and still never know how he feels.'

'I love you...'

'I know,' he whispered. 'I love you, too.'

'Then what are we doing?' she asked, letting her eyes move over his face, letting the tears drip from her jaw.

'I'm staying here,' he said gently. 'And you're going to find Erik.'

And so there she was, riding hard and fast across the open land of France, racing time to the beat of her pounding heart.


	61. Lean on Me

**A/N: Right… Two chapters to go after this. I hope you like this one.**

**Pertie: Thank you for your reviews. They always make me smile. **

**Kaledena: Thanks for the review. Hold that thought…**

**Nabira: Well done! Oscuridad is Spanish for Darkness. Thank you for your reviews and did you guess that it was the horse in frontof the out house or were you thinking something else?**

**Captain Oblivious: Thank you for your reviews, they're grea tot receive. I hope you like this chapter. I updated as soon as I could!**

**Queensarah: Well? This ok for you? Thanks for the review… I hope you like this chapter… it's nearly over but thanks for sticking with me!**

**Emmakins: You'll just have to wait and see. Thank you for taking the time to review.**

**Ahomelesspirate: I'm glad you liked chapter 60. Raoul is a good guy and he knows she isn't his… she does love him but she isn't his, is she? Thank you for the reviews!**

**Angelofmusic: Thank you for the review and I'm glad you liked Raoul's reaction. I think it's good that he's allowing himself to let her go… she has the choice to go back though, doesn't she? **

**Hicdracones: Thank you for the wonderful (long) review. I appreciate the time you took to leave it for me. I'm glad you liked the interactions in the chapter, I was afraid it might not turn out the way I needed it to. Thanks x**

'_L'amour est un ange envoyé du ciel pour toucher ceux de l'utilisation_

_a béni assez pour le savoir.' _

_-Love is an angel sent from heaven to touch those who are blessed enough to know it._

_-Anonymous._

**Chapter 61- Lean on Me.**

Christine blew warm air onto her hands as she sat on the grass by the side of a small stream. They had needed to stop and water the horses, give them a rest and, if the truth was know, give herself a rest too. She had forgotten over the years how much of a strain on her body riding for such a long time was, particularly when riding so hard. Her eyes drifted over the moonlight soaked ground and up to Henry who was splashing his face with the water of the stream. He was tall and handsome, his eyes were a grey in colour and nearly as intense as Erik. Now, as she looked at him, she could see the resemblance between the two brothers.

Their eyes were similar, in their sharpness and texture, the way the focused on her with curiosity. Both of them had strong, angular jaws and soft lips, they were both tall and broad, both softly spoken but there were many differences. Erik had been born with terrible deformities to the right side of his face, meaning he had had to cover it with a mask for his whole life. Henry had been blessed with beauty all over, from the hairs on his head down to his feet. Christine couldn't see a blemish and above all that, he was  
obviously an intelligent and kind man. Christine smiled because she knew that he would make Meg happy.

Erik had been blessed with a golden voice. Although they both spoke softly Erik had a voice that could mesmerise any man or woman... child or animal. When he tried it was powerful and booming, loud and imposing he could command an entire theatre. And then, with Christine, it could be so quiet, so low and calm... so gentle that she almost swayed in its sound. He had been given, in place of his looks, not simply a gift with music but an intelligence unmeasured by anyone else she had ever know. He was an  
architect, scholar, musician and physician... knowing the plants and animals... from the tiniest insect on the ground to the largest bird souring in the sky. He could read an average book in less than two hours where it would take others two days, he had an ability to absorb that information, store it and bring it back to amaze those he spoke to.

He didn't speak to many people now, of course, now that he was presumed dead. In fact, in the eyes of the law... of the world... he WAS dead.

She sighed and Henry looked up at her.

'This has all been a lot for you to take,' he said gently and she glanced at him.

'More so for you,' she whispered kindly. 'How are you feeling?'

'I'm fine,' he smiled. 'A little sore... but healing... slowly.'

She returned his smile.

'We should make a move then,' he said and forced himself to his feet.

He reached out and pulled on Oscuridad's reigns, guiding him around so that he was standing by Christine. He scraped the ground with his hoof and dust bellowed around his ankle, he turned and nuzzled Christine with his nose as she reached over and patted him gently. Then Christine pulled herself up into the saddle, hooked the reigns around her hands and pulled him around to stand next to Henry's chestnut mare. Henry climbed onto her before nodding at Christine, nudging the mare with his heel and powering away with Christine right behind him, pushing Oscuridad onwards.

* * *

She watched him as he walked across the room to pick up his glass of whisky, he leant against the fireplace and released a sigh. Her eyes drifted over his tall frame as he stood there, his eyes were tired but his face looked more relieved... more... at peace. The lines that had begun to form around his mouth were slowly disappearing, even as she looked at him she could see the weight lifting from his shoulders. Still, it was obvious that he was sad.

'Are you okay?' she asked and he turned to look at her.

'Yes,' he forced a sorrowed smile.

'Are you sure?' she asked, and he shook his head as a tear began to form in his eye. She lifted herself carefully from her seat and she walked to him, wrapped her arms around him and held him tight. At first he resisted the help, resisted the attempt at comfort and then he stopped. His body fell towards her and he squeezed her back, tears dripping from his cheeks onto her elegant dress.

'You'll be okay,' she said. 'I promise you that... you'll be okay.'

'It hurts,' he said, trying to compose himself.

'I know.'

He nodded.

'You did the right thing,' she whispered softly and kissed his hair. He felt her lips and smiled in spite of himself. She felt like his mother and this was a good feeling, a feeling he hadn't had in so long, the comforted he needed.

'I wonder...' he began but she stopped him.

'You did.' her voice was firm but not unkind. 'You really did.'

'I've tried.'

'I know you have... I know,' softness crept through her tone, touched it's usually harsh edged.

'I'll be fine,' he said, coughing away his sobs.

'You will,' she said.

She pushed him so that his muscular frame was standing at arms length, She smiled at him.

'I'll be here for you,' Antoinette said, the smile staying on her lips. 'I'm so, so proud of you... and I love you Raoul, you're my boy... the son I never had and I'm VERY proud of you.'

* * *

Christine had never felt so tired before in her life. She was shattered, physically, emotionally... she was drained. Her arms were aching and her bones felt sore... she knew from the slackness of the reigns in her hands that Ocsuridad was tired too and as she looked to her right she realised that Henry was leaning forward, so that his weight was basically resting on the horse. He was barely even holding his body up himself.

She knew it was close to six in the morning as the sun was beginning to show on the horizon and the atmosphere was starting to lighten. Christine knew that it was going to be a beautiful day but her heart was swelling in her chest. They had very few hours left.


	62. The Reason

**A/N: Was listening to 'The Reason' by Hoobastank. Great song, but this chapter… listen to something slow.**

**Thank you _all_ for your reviews, replies in the next (and probably final) chapter.**

'_If I could save time in a bottle,_

_The first thing that I'd like to do,_

_Is to save every day,_

_Til eternity passes away,_

_Just to spend them with you._

_If I could make days last forever,_

_If words could make wishes come true,_

_I'd save everyday like a treasure,_

_And then, again I would spend them with you,_

_But there never seems to be enough time  
To do the things you want to do  
Once you find them  
I've looked around enough to know  
That you're the one I want to go  
Through time with_

If I had a box just for wishes  
And dreams that had never come true  
The box would be empty  
Except for the memory  
Of how they were answered by you' – 'Time in a Bottle,' –Jim Croce

**Chapter 62- The Reason**

The sun was high in the sky, beating down hard onto her shoulders as she finally stepped onto the wooded floor of the docks. The seaport smelled of fish and the stale sweat of the tired workmen on it. It made her look around at the people who worked there, slogging their guts out for just a handful of money every month, a handful of coins to try to live on. Christine closed her eyes and took a deep breath before turning to look at Henry, whose eyes were focused, looking concerned, onto her face.

'Are you okay?' he asked and reached out to touch her arm. It was the gesture a brother might give to a sister and she lifted her hand to rub his fingers gently.

'Yes,' she said and sighed, she felt her stomach somersault and placed a hand on it carefully. Henry let go of her arm, reluctantly, and nodded at her.

'Go on…' he said, nudging her away gently. 'And hurry.'

Christine showed him a tired smile and turned away, she walked through a large shack which ran down the centre of a strip of the docks. She was whistled at by sailors and stared at by drunks, both types had many things in common, not least of all that they acted as if they had never seen a woman before.

Henry had asked if she wanted him to go with her but she had very politely declined, asking him to wait for her while she tried to get back something she should never have released in the first place. He had been unwilling, at first, to let her go alone, he had obviously witnessed the sailors antics before, but after she had explained what this really meant to her, he had grumbled and then ushered her on.

The boards creaked under her feet and she ignored the sound of the sailors, instead choosing to be with her focus instead of with her fear. When she got to the far side of the shack she looked out of the window onto the sea, onto the boats and ships and people walking and running around… working or leaving for holidays and business. There were children, animals, mothers and grandmothers… young men, old men, short, tall, fat, thin, dirty men and tidy men.

They were happy and angry, they were guilty and hard working… they were sad.

She saw people of all walks of life, from all backgrounds…

But no Erik.

'Can I help you?'

Christine turned to face a young boy, no more than thirteen years in age, who was looking up at her with curiosity.

'Umm,' she said and then cleared her throat. 'When is the next boat to England?'

He frowned and asked her to wait before darting off and into another room, leaving her standing there, once again alone.

It was a couple of minutes before he came back his eyes sparkling and she noticed their green through to muck on his round face.

'Five o clock,' he said.

'Five? Isn't that a bit late?' she asked, staring at him.

'No, Madame,' he said, ringing his hat in his hands. 'You just missed our afternoon passenger carrier.'

'I…' she began but didn't finish, instead she turned from the boy to shield him from her tears and ran out onto the docks so that she could look out to sea. She stood there for what seemed like an eternity, horses carrying men and carriages carrying families passed her but still she stared right ahead. She watched the too and fro of the water, the boats bobbing gently, side to side, up and down, on its rhythm.

She felt something tug at her arm and she turned slowly to face it.

'Madame,' said the boy. 'You can get the next one.'

'Oh, no…' Christine said softly, through her tears. He had followed her outside. 'There was someone I needed to see on that boat.'

'Oh,' he whispered. 'I'm sorry.'

Christine looked at the softness of the boys features compared to his rough callous fingers, he was thin and pale under the dirt but still he looked happy.

'What's your name?' She asked, lifting her hand to wipe her eye carefully.

'Peter,' he said. 'I was born in England.' He swelled with pride.

'Thank you for your help Peter,' she said, allowing a small smile to cross her lips, and then she reached into her hidden purse to pull out a coin for him. He glanced at her, took the coin and flashed her a smile.

'What for, Madame?' he asked.

'Just for being so… so very helpful,' she said and then politely shooed him away.

She tried to get the energy and the will to turn around.

She knew that she had missed him, she knew that he was on that ship and she knew that she had lost her race against time.

She knew she should leave but still, her heart was heavy and her feet felt like lead and all she wanted to do was sit down, in a dark and isolated corner. She wanted to be alone, to rest alone… to think of those things she had lost.

The things she was supposed to have with Erik that she should have known years ago.

If only she had given him the chance.

She would miss their everything… their future… their home, their long and careful conversations. She wanted to cry while she imagined the love they would never make, the children they would never have and the time they would never spend together… she wished in her heart that she could turn back time to when she made her mistakes.

Her heart ached and sank in her chest, she placed her hand over it, grabbing the cloth of her dress and squeezing it next to her heart. She fought away tears, battled against sobs… looked out to the water… wishing she could see him. Wishing he was there… just for one more moment, just so that he could know… so that he would _know…_he would know that she had made so many mistakes in her life but marrying Raoul… leaving _him_ behind was the biggest of all. She knew now, standing along on the docks, that mistakes had consequences and this consequence was hardest to deal with.

What crushed her the most, what stabbed at her soul, was that she could have been with him, she _could_ have turned to him anytime, at _any _time … while he was there… she could have told Raoul that he wasn't the one… that he wasn't her love, her life… her soul… he wasn't Erik, not her Erik, he wasn't her angel.

In her heart she knew that she had accepted her love for Erik long, long ago… many years ago. She had loved him from the minute she had heard him… how could she not?

How could she not fall through heaven for a man so strong, so talented and so intelligent… with so much to give and so much teach. How could she not want his presence and his company…

She clutched her throat as a sob escaped.

How she would miss him… how she was going to ache for him every waking moment, how she knew that she was going to forgive herself for his pain… his anguish …

…his anguish. She could have rescued him from that anguish.

They called him murderer but she was the worst criminal of all because in her life she broken a man so that he lived in perpetual nothing because she had never taken risks… until now.

And look what had happened.

She had lost everything.

She coughed away another gasp of air, stopped the choke in her throat from spilling out into more heart wrenching sobs.

The money… the house… the clothes… Raoul… she could live without. They meant nothing to her, not in her heart and soul…

But to live without Erik…

To live without him forever… how could she do that?

She stepped forward, dazed and confused, something in her mind making the decisions for her feet. Another carriage flew past her and nearly knocked her down but she simply shook her head and brushed herself off.

She felt sick.

She looked to her right and allowed carriages past her as they began to queue in front of her. People still barged past her but she didn't care if they knocked her over…

They weren't to know the pain she was in.

Her body shook involuntarily and she wrapped her arms around herself, rubbing her upper arms. The sky was bright and blue, the sun was beaming down and the heat was astonishing, yet she was chilled, she felt cold and she was shivering.

As more carriages piled past she momentarily went back to the place she was in not so many weeks earlier.

Wrapped up in Erik's arms, warm and damp with sweat, clinging to him like he was her life raft, like he had rescued her.

Had he rescued her?

He always seemed to.

When she looked up the queue of carriages was so long that it now reached past her and she was, therefore, stuck where she was standing for a moment. She swallowed back a sob, stopped herself from crying and stood up straight. Once again she neatened her clothing, her hair, brushed tears from under her eyes and blew out a sigh.

She glanced up at her reflection in the window of the carriage, that was parked directly in front of her and as she began to drop her head she caught a glimpse of something in the mirror of the glass which sent shivers down her spine.


	63. Forgiveness

**A/N: Thank you all for having reviewed so faithfully. I think I will leave this here… I'm not sure an Epilogue would fit at the end but I'm sure I will go with popular demand.**

**Here goes: **

**UndermyAngel: You first as I missed you out last time! I'm so sorry, and thank you very much for your reviews, they have been wonderful. I apologise for the cliff hanger and I hope that you enjoy the ending.**

**GerrysJackie: I'm glad you've enjoyed the story and I'm glad that you found it. It's always nice to find new fans and new reviewers. I have read your profile and intend to read your story as soon as I get chance. Thank you kindly for your review. **

**Hicdracones: Thank you, as always, for your reviews. I think that it's important for Christine to be shocked into action and I've tried to do that in this. I have tried to keep her in character at the same time as giving her a little more… 'oomph'. **

**Kaledena: Thanks for your reviews. You have reviewed most chapters to this story and all I can say is thank you so much for your patience.**

**Nabira: Another faithful reader, and thank you very much. I hope that you are not disappointed by the ending!**

**Ahomelesspirate: Always do you shower me with compliments yet keep me in check. Thank you for that and for always taking the time to review each chapter. I'm sorry for the depressing tone… But rollercoaster emotions are good and show I am doing something right. **

**Pertie: I was actually going to leave this chapter a little longer but your review was so good I had to update sooner than I had originally intended. Thank you very much for all of your reviews!**

**Queensarah: Thank you very much for all of your very in depth and long reviews. You truly make my day and I look forward to your reviews. I'm sorry that the story has come to an end but I'm sure it won't be long before I'm putting more work on here. **

**CaptainOblivious: Thank you for all of the reviews you have given me. Particularly the last one about Raoul… I'm glad that I could make him out to be the character I believe that he is. Strong inside but kind and considerate. Thanks as always x**

**Angelofmusic: Thank you for all of your reviews, throughout this story. You have made me smile and made me want to continue. Thank you**

**Emmakins: I hope that the ending is to your liking and that you are not disappointed and thank you for the reviews you have left along the way x**

**Modesty: What cane I say? Faithful reader of TWO of my stories. Thank you, always x**

**Starsheep: Thank you for finding my story, thank you for taking the time to review. I appreciate it more than you know **

**Elektra: Wherever you have vanished to thank you for the reviews you left on this story. X**

**MysteryGuest: Again… thank you!  
**

'_When this cold world comes between us,  
Please tell me you be brave   
'Cause I can realize the danger  
When forgiveness fades away' – Bon Jovi, 'Lie To Me'_

**Chapter 63- Forgiveness**

The shiver crawled further along her spine like a spider as she looked back up, motionless, staring at the reflection. Her nerves tingled as she looked at the reflection in the carriage window.

All she saw now was the boats and the sea behind her, nothing had changed, nothing had altered. The breeze still blew so that the ships rocked giddily from side to side. The people still worked behind her, around her and the carriages still continued to queue. People shouted to each other along the expanse of the dockland. The smell of fish and men seemed stronger in the open, as if when the wind increased so did the ferocity of the smells.

The seaport was somewhere she no longer wanted to be. Suddenly she wished that she was with Meg, with her friend, in the warmth and comfort of her home… not feeling this heartbreak… never knowing what the pain of being so close yet so far away was.

More than that, suddenly, she wished she was back to years ago when her decisions could still decide her fate... when her decisions could have saved her.

She dropped her head back down to glance at her feet when she heard a voice behind her.

'Did you miss your boat, Madame?'

'Mademoiselle,' Christine corrected as she turned and nodded her head slowly.

'Perhaps we can get you on the next?'

She nodded again.

'Where are you going to?'

'England…' she said softly. 'I think.'

The gentleman nodded.

'The next boat is at five pm,' he said, his voice was thick and rich.

'Well, I was waiting for someone,' she said, and stepped towards him.

'And is he here?' the gentleman queried, looking around him.

'I'm not sure,' she replied, watching him carefully.

'You look…' he began and stopped, he looked at her face, her eyes. 'You look like you've been crying.'

'Yes,' she said. 'I missed my boat.'

'Is that really a reason to be crying?' he asked, almost coldly, watching her expression change. She smiled softly at him.

'It was an important boat,' she said, meeting his gaze with her soft brown eyes.

'No more important than the other boats on the harbour,'

'That's where you're wrong, Monsieur,' she said simply, staring at him. 'That boat was so much more important that _any_ other on this harbour…'

He looked at her.

'You see, Monsieur,' she whispered, stepping closer to him so that he could hear her. 'I thought that my friend was on that boat…'

He said nothing but he allowed her to move closer.

'He is my best friend…' her voice glided through her lips softly. 'That boat was much, much more important than any in the world because I thought that he was on it… I thought that I had lost him.'

Still he stood their, curiosity covered his face as she spoke to him. The sounds of the sea poured into their ears, people talked loudly and brushed past them but still, it didn't distract them.

'And, well…' her smile fell from her lips and a tear trickled along her cheek. 'If I'd lost him… I don't know, I don't think I could have lived… I don't think I could survive without him.'

'Then, do you love him?' he asked, his voice was low and quiet, almost so soft it was as if it wasn't even there.

'What do you think?' she asked, her voice a whisper dancing on his ears as she looked into his soft blue eyes.

'I think,' he said softly. 'I think that I've missed my boat.'

She smiled.

'Perhaps we can get you on the next one?' she reached out to touch his arm, rested her hand there. He nodded at her, leaned forward as she asked, 'Where are you…?'

But he didn't let her finish.

'I'm always where you are, Christine,' he said, as he kissed the sounds of the people around them, away from her ear.


End file.
